


Chasing Rainbows 🌈🌈🌈

by BiteTheApple



Series: (Forever) Chasing Rainbows [1]
Category: Call Me By Your Name (2017), Call Me By Your Name (2017) RPF, Call Me By Your Name - All Media Types
Genre: Friends to Lovers, Kissing, Light Angst, Light-Hearted, M/M, Out of work actor, Slow Burn, York England
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-24
Updated: 2020-09-25
Packaged: 2021-03-03 02:54:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 28,023
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24357658
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BiteTheApple/pseuds/BiteTheApple
Summary: 'F*ck, this was embarrassing. How the hell had it come to this?''Oh holy f*ck, his eyes! Blue-within-blue-within-blue' 💙Timmy is struggling. Armie comes to the rescue
Relationships: Timothée Chalamet/Armie Hammer
Series: (Forever) Chasing Rainbows [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2057829
Comments: 851
Kudos: 326





	1. Bully Boy

  
Fuck, this was embarrassing. Mortifying in fact. How the hell had it come to this? Unfuckingbelievable!

As he stood the mandatory two metres away from the other desperate souls in the queue at the foodbank, Timmy pulled the collar of his coat up higher around his neck – more so he could try and just fucking _disappear_ than for warmth because the weather was surprisingly tropical for Yorkshire in May. Who knew?!

He checked that his ‘facemask’ was in place as he shuffled closer to the equally adorned, freakishly tall guy directing foot traffic at the front of the queue. There had been strict instructions about food-bank protocol on the leaflet given to him by Jodene, the kind lady from the Citizens Advice Bureau, and God forbid anyone who flouted this! One trampy-looking bloke had already been asked to leave because he was clearly three-sheets-to-the-wind, wearing an old pair of faded Spiderman undies as a mask, effing and jeffing about _‘Thatcher’s Britain_ ’ - whatever the hell that meant.

Jodene had visited Tim’s bedsit the day before in order to assess his eligibility for foodbank donations. She poked around the tiny, bleak living room/bedroom/kitchen space while he filled out a basic questionnaire:

**Name** : Timothée Hal Chalamet  
 **DOB** : 27th December 1995  
 **Nationality** : American/French  
 **Marital Status** : Single  
 **Occupation** : Actor (currently unemployed)  
 **Reason for Referral** : Theatre closed due to Covid-19. Unable to claim welfare benefits. Can’t afford to eat.  
 **Amount of savings** : £63.45  
 **Current Income** : fuck all! 

She glanced at the form, had a quick check of his almost-empty cupboards (two Pot Noodles, a tin of Aldi beans, a Fray Bentos Pie and a jar of olives) and declared, “Well the good news Tim is that you are eligible. The bad news is that I can only issue you with three emergency food vouchers for now. You really need to think about a longer-term solution.”

The only ‘longer term solution’ he could think of right now was throwing himself into the River Ouse. He’d actually considered ‘Only Fans’ as a last resort although the people who would pay to watch him jerk-off must surely be pretty desperate. Or how about the fucking virus to just fuck off and the fucking theatre to reopen again?!?

When he’d landed the part back in December, he thought he’d made it at last. All those years of bit-parts in ‘Law and Order‘ and character roles in obscure arthouse productions had finally paid off. To play Hamlet in a historical city with a 13th century castle as a backdrop was a dream come true! The Rose Theatre Company had set him up in a swanky riverside apartment with three months wages upfront. February was spent rehearsing with the opening night scheduled for the 25th of March – but then CV19 had happened and the world had, well…shut down.

So it was _‘tatty-bye_ ’ to the swanky apartment and ‘ _hello_ ’ to the foul, grotty bedsit in a HMO – which stood for ‘House of Multiple Occupancy’ but may as well have stood for ‘Horrible Mouse Odour’ or ‘Horrific Mental Ordeal’ – take your pick.

As for the money, well in typical 24-year old boy fashion, he had blown it all on clothes and clubs in the first month. The airports were closed so the option of going back to NYC and throwing himself upon the mercy of his parents was out - and besides, he was too embarrassed to ask for help. So here he was – waiting in line at a foodbank, feeling like a complete loser.

“Next!” called the tall guy with the floppy dark-blonde hair as he beckoned Timmy with his finger. “Voucher please,” he said, deep voice muffled by the very professional-looking face mask, unlike Tim’s make-shift thing fashioned out of a Louis Vuitton scarf.

“Hey, are you American?” asked Tim, shocked and delighted to hear a sort-of familiar accent after months of trying to decipher the complicated lingo of North Yorkshire.

“Err…yes I guess I am. You need to use the hand sanitiser, there. Voucher please.” And he held out a rubber-gloved hand without giving Timmy any eye contact.

Timmy frowned and handed over his referral form and voucher. He watched as the grumpy giant scrutinised it and tried to just _fucking breathe_ because he was feeling suddenly enraged by this condescending big bastard, looking down on him – physically and metaphorically! It took all he had not to shout, “Shove your twatting food parcel up your arse you lofty knob head!” (He’d learned some Yorkshire lingo over the last three months) but then ‘Lofty’ said, “First time here? Ok, wait at the side there and I’ll show you what to do. Give me a second,” before calling over a chubby woman in a floaty kaftan to take over door duty.

Near starvation has a way of making even the most radical revolutionaries compliant, so Timmy reluctantly did as he was told and stood to one side of the lobby in the church hall that had temporarily become the venue for the emergency food bank. He perused the fading flyers on the pinboard (Knitting Club, Dog Walking Service, Creative Writing, Yoga for All, Finding Love in Later Life) and did a mental relaxation exercise he’d learned at stage school while he waited to be shown the ropes.

“Hi. Sorry about that. I’m Armie. Nice to meet you… Timotay is it? Like the shampoo? I won’t shake hands for obvious reasons but come through to the hall and I’ll explain what to do.”

Tim followed him and muttered, “Just call me Timmy.” He was starting to feel a little hot and claustrophobic in his coat and mask and had a massive urge to just walk out of the fucking place.

But when he entered the main hall, he was surprised to see that the set-up was really efficient. There was a table serving tea and coffee in disposable, cardboard cups; there were foot-print stickers on the wooden floor to mark out the ‘socially-distancing’ parameters; all the volunteers were wearing medical grade masks; the food donations were all clearly marked - vegan, gluten-free etc; Radio X was playing in the background and the room smelled of freshly baked bread - and in fact it was not at all as he’d imagined.

Armie (what the fuck sort of name is that, Timmy wondered) gestured him over to the refreshment table. “I’m guessing you’re a coffee man because, correct me if I’m wrong, but is that a New York accent I detect?”

Timmy laughed. “Actually I’ve become quite partial to Yorkshire tea over the last few months but I’ll take whatever’s going. And yes, New Yorker born and bred.”

Armie handed him a black coffee - and that’s when Timmy noticed his eyes. Oh holy fuck, his eyes! Blue-within-blue-within-blue, long, dark eyelashes, slight crinkles when he smiled – oh God no, he thought – I cannot fall for the foodbank volunteer guy!!! Aren’t they all like religious nut-jobs with nothing better to do?

His hand shook a little as he took the coffee and tried not to think about THE BLUE EYES!

“Ok, so come this way. Now that you’re registered, you’ll just need to hand over your voucher at the door. Then you come and get a drink. We normally have a social club going on with bingo and a quiz three times a week but we’ve had to postpone that for now. Then you come over to the food tables, here. We try and put together a parcel that best suits your needs. So do you like to cook? Any food allergies or intolerances?”

Timmy trailed behind like an obedient puppy and tried hard to work out how he was going to confess to this fucking _dreamboat_ that he only had a microwave and a kettle in the HMO-hellhole, so ‘cooking’ was out of the question.

“No allergies but…err…I only have like really basic kitchen facilities…” His embarrassed blush went right up to his hairline and he was, for once, thankful of the facemask. Mr Blue Eyes (no longer ‘Lofty’) frowned slightly then smiled and said, “No problemo Timo! Follow me!” and strode off towards a table in the corner.

Timo? Oh good God, even his voice was seductive. How he had gone from hating him to horning on him in ten minutes flat was anybody’s guess. Blame the lockdown.

“Here, look, I can put together a parcel of microwavable things. Healthy stuff too. And there’s a lot you can do with a kettle and a jug you know.” Timmy just sipped his coffee in silence for fear of blurting out something ridiculous and watched as groceries were packed into a sturdy, hessian bag with ‘York Hammer Trust’ printed on the side.

“What’s the Hammer thing?” he asked.

Timmy was quite the expert at reading body-language and was bemused to see that Mr Confident-I’m-In-Charge was slightly thrown. Interesting…

“Err…Hammer…that’s me. It’s a family thing. We like to support local communities.”

Timmy felt bad but he just couldn’t help himself – that was the funniest fucking thing he had heard in a long time. In fact he hadn’t laughed in weeks but for some reason that just tickled him. He threw his head back and pulled his face mask down. “Armie Hammer? That’s your name? Your actual name? Armie? Hammer? Like the toothpaste?”

“Says the man whose name sounds like a French porn-star.”

Timmy couldn’t argue with that and they both burst out laughing - and the world around them disappeared. He might well look like fucking Quasimodo without the mask on for all he knew but if the eyes and the voice were anything to go by, Mr Hammer was one sexy motherfucker for sure! Two more vouchers to use – and then what?!?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This came to me in a flash this aft whilst sitting in the garden in what seemed like a bloody freak hurricane or something! England is getting VERY weird weather at the mo...  
> I've had a bit of anxiety after finishing 'The Secret Diary...' for some reason so I'm really happy I was able to write this. It’s been literally two hours from sitting down at the laptop to posting.  
> As ever, I would love to hear your comments - all writers will concur, we are comment whores! I used to fish a lot with my wonderful (long gone) Dad and I always think that posting a story is a bit like casting out your line and hoping for the best.  
> I hope you are all staying safe and sane during this fucking madness (I'm hanging onto the sanity bit...just)  
> Peace & Love as ever dear readers - enjoy! 🥰  
> (The pic is of Cliffords Tower in York where the 🎭 was, taken by me)  
> (Oh and the main title and chapters are tracks by a fabulous York band called Shed Seven)


	2. Going For Gold

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Armie spots a familiar face in the foodbank queue. Timmy's scent attracts a new friend! 🐶

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The photographs are mine taken last week after work. York really is a lovely city. 
> 
> (York Minster and Museum Gardens)
> 
> Another light-hearted piece of fiction - I hope this helps in these trying times, whatever you are going through. 🖤🤎❤️
> 
> Enjoy!

  
Despite the ridiculously flamboyant face mask, Armie had recognised the beautiful young man with the full eyebrows and strange colour-shifting eyes straight away. He felt his heartrate hike up a notch or two - or ten. But after three decades of masking his emotions, he had no trouble at all maintaining his usual ‘efficient and impersonal’ demeanour as he supervised the hungry hordes outside the church hall.

Although AH International had sponsored the Rose Theatre’s production of Hamlet, as Managing Director of the UK division, Armie had very little to do with the company’s philanthropic ventures, preferring the anonymous banality of property development.

As for the charity, he had petitioned – no, _begged_! – his father and the board not to call it the Hammer Trust but he had been outvoted. He found it incredibly embarrassing to have his name plastered about the place - and if not for the fact that it was tattooed on him (the folly of youth!) he had put serious thought into changing it to John Smith or something.

So apart from his twice-weekly stint at the foodbank, he rarely socialised - if you could call that socialising - and had made very few friends in the two years he had lived in York, preferring the company of his little dog, Archie - one of the few living things he could depend on.

He had, however, found himself wandering into the rehearsals one afternoon whilst on a much-needed break from a frustrating meeting regarding the nonsensical North Yorkshire planning laws. So somebody could stick a fifty metre high wind-turbine up in their back garden with very little hassle but a multi-million pound social housing development had been tied up in red tape for months because the proposed colour of the window frames was _‘not in keeping with the local area’_ – ridiculous!

Armie needed fresh air - and a cigarette, the absurdity of which was not lost on him but he’d managed to cut down to a five-a-day habit so he figured he deserved a nicotine fix. He crossed over Lendal Bridge with its medieval towers and strolled along the riverbank before he realised he was outside the theatre.

He guessed there would be no objection to him just popping in to see how things were going – the family company was financing it after all. And besides, he was intrigued to see who the hell had the audacity to deliver the infamous monologue in a _New York accent!_

He’d seen Hamlet many times before, of course he had - both on the silver screen and on stage. Who could fail to be moved by the handsome, tortured Laurence Olivier, or be impressed by the versatile David Tennant with his whole other take on the character? But then there was this…this…

…man (boy?) stretched out on his back in low-slung jeans, legs splayed, clutching what remained of poor Yorick against the pale flesh of his exposed, flat stomach. A mop of dark curls framed his delicate, angular face as his long, slender fingers caressed the smooth contours of the skull, almost seductively so - and he spoke those centuries-old lines, just as casually as if he were talking to a friend in the East Village…

**_“Here hung those lips that I have kissed I know not how oft…”_ **

It shouldn’t work. It was all wrong. But good god, it was fucking mesmerising! Armie’s mouth fell open and, as if pulled by an invisible thread, he slowly walked closer to the stage, closer to _him._

His first conscious thought, after remembering how to breathe, was how he longed to be kissing _his_ lips. To lay down on top of him right now and gently lick them open and push against his soft pink mouth and explore inside – and he imagined climbing the steps onto the stage and to just…fuck…just…

The sudden slamming of a door behind him snapped him out of his reverie and he hurried out into the cold March air before anybody noticed the obvious bulge in his tailored trousers. His second conscious thought as he briskly walked back to the office was nope, no, nada, nix, no way, no more – forget about him you fool. Do _not_ go there again!

His beloved, long-gone grandfather and mentor had warned him about the perils of women and weed - but had failed to mention the pitfalls of boys and booze. If only he knew! Yes, he must definitely put this beautiful boy out of his mind. He must! It would cause him nothing but heartache, earache and every other kind of ache no doubt! And he nearly did…

…until he saw him stood in line at the foodbank. What the hell had happened? He thought the actors had been paid? Should he confess he knew who he was? Should he confess who _he_ was? He was only second in line now – think Armie, think…

He cringed as the surly, “Next!” came out of his mouth – why the fuck did he do that?!? He inwardly kicked himself and figured he rightly deserved the poor guy’s ‘death-glare’ because, judging by his body language, he would obviously be anywhere else in the world right now than waiting for a charity hand-out. Armie felt like shit and busied himself checking the food vouchers, whilst desperately working out how he could make it right.

So the whole ‘guided tour’ thing was his way of trying to atone for being an uptight asshole as usual. He made sure to fill the bag with enough fresh ingredients to make plenty of healthy meals in a microwave - and even popped in a small cookbook because he got the impression this guy was definitely not a cook – he was so thin!

When they’d locked eyes and laughed at their equally ridiculous names, Armie was already fantasising about how that thin body would look minus the baggy jeans, hoodie, T-shirt and whatever else was under that heavy, weather inappropriate coat! He must be mafting! (He had picked up a fair bit of Yorkshire lingo himself over the last couple of years)

“That should keep you going,” he said, trying to ignore his own internal heatwave which was causing sweat to bead on his forehead – blame the stupid mask and not the fact that this fucking _vision_ had just raised the temperature in the room by ten degrees!

“Our telephone number is on the side of the bag if you need anything else.”

What he really wanted to say was, “Here’s _my_ telephone number. I saw you as Hamlet. You were amazing. I think I’m in love. Call me. In fact scrap that, fuck the lock-down rules and come home with me - now!”

But he didn’t. He just said, “Don’t forget to put your scarf back on,” then turned away and pretended to rearrange a box of fruit.

As soon as he could reasonably leave for the night, he raced back to his apartment on his bike, through the grounds of the Minster and past the art gallery, desperate to log online and hit Google.

Now, how was it spelt? Timothy? No hang on, Timotee. Nope – Timothée – that’s it! Timothée Chalamet. Oh God, even the name sent an electric shock straight to his balls. He spent the next hour trawling through theatre reviews to try and find out as much as he could about the talented Mr Chalamet.

Then spent the following hour laid on his bed, naked with his hand around his cock, fantasising about the talented Mr Chalamet...

  
Timmy felt ashamed with the ‘York Hammer Trust’ bag – like a walking declaration of _‘Look at me everybody! I’m a loser who has to rely on charity!’_ So as soon as he was out of view of the volunteers – especially Ol’ Blue Eyes - he took his coat off and wrapped it around the bag and carried it in his arms for the short ten-minute walk home.

Home – that was a joke! You could hardly call ex-student digs ‘home’ but it was the best he could afford at such short notice – oh and with the world being fucking closed and all that! It could be worse he supposed – his best friend had just happened to be visiting a cat-hoarding maiden aunt in Atlantic City when lockdown happened. Now that’s what you’d call unlucky!

He’d made the best of it by sticking up theatre posters over the puzzling _‘get ya clit out’_ and _‘your cat is a dick’_ graffiti on the back wall and had ordered new bedding, towels and basic kitchen equipment from Amazon with the last of his wages, so it wasn’t completely unbearable, but still...

It smelled weird (although he was going slightly nose-blind to that, which was somewhat troubling) and the neighbours above sounded like they were torturing each other every night, but not in a good way. The one saving grace was that he had his own bathroom – thank fuck! Having to queue up for a dump and navigate his way around someone else’s pubes in the shower might just have tipped him completely over the edge.

He emptied the bag onto his bed and laughed out loud when he saw the little book ‘ **Great Micro Meals for Gals in High Heels’** with a picture of a cartoon pin-up girl on the front, complete with red stilettos and a jaunty handbag. What the hell?!? A small, handwritten note on ‘York Hammer Trust’ stationary fluttered to the floor as he flicked through the pages:

**Ignore the title – there are actually some really good recipes in here. Armie (Mr Toothpaste)**

Then as if it was an afterthought…

**See you next week?**

Unless there was some sort of miracle like winning the lottery or lockdown ending, Timmy was pretty certain he would _definitely_ be seeing him next week. And even if he did win the lottery he thought he would still very much like to see him again. But first things first – he needed to eat!

He set to work trying to fathom out what meals he could make, pouring over the surprisingly good ideas in the little book and matching them up with the groceries in the food parcel. The tall, blue-eyed, musky-pine smelling man with the sexy-as-fuck voice popped into his head more than a few times that evening.

Timmy wondered again what he would look like without the mask. After a while, he ditched the book, ate the last remaining Pot Noodle and laid down on the bed with his hand down his boxers - and gave that some serious thought…until he came all over his new sheets.

He didn’t have to wait long because the very next morning while he was on his mandated once-a-day permitted exercise (which actually consisted of a saunter around the Museum Gardens, listening to ‘After Hours’ in his Beats) who was to go jogging past but a certain fair-haired hunk with a little brown dog at his heels.

For some unfathomable reason Timmy quickly ducked under the boughs of a nearby weeping-willow tree and watched as man and beast did a loop around the park before pausing to catch their breath - right next to where he was hiding!

He prayed to God he wouldn’t be spotted looking like some sort of pervy peeping-Tom but he couldn’t help sneaking a peak while Armie did a series of elaborate cool-down lunges and stretches. Jesus, it looked like he was packing a 32oz Pepsi Max down there and those grey sweat-shorts certainly left nothing to the imagination!

He tried to stay as still as he could as Armie straightened up, smoothed back his sweat-dampened hair and turned in the direction of the gate. Ahhhh so that’s what he looks like without the mask – fucking drop dead gorgeous! But then to Timmy’s absolute horror, the mutt must have picked up his scent (he was showering every day, honestly!) because it suddenly started frantically sniffing at the grass – before making a beeline straight for him hunkered down like a lunatic under the tree!

“Get lost! Scram!” he whispered loudly, making shooing motions with his arms. “Fuck off! Bad dog!” But the cute little mutt was having none of it. He wagged his rear-end, jumped into Timmy’s lap and settled himself down, before letting out one little _‘I’m here!’_ yap to his owner.

“Archie! Archie! Here boy! What are you doing under there?”

Timmy could come up with no sane and rational reason why he was under a tree with a dog on his lap. So when Armie crouched down and peered at him through the branches with a look of utter confusion on his face, all he could think to say was, “Hi. Fancy seeing you here. Is this yours?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trust that we stan the good guys 👍
> 
> Let me know your thoughts pleeeease - every kudos & comment warms my little heart 😊
> 
> Stay strong, safe & sane 💛


	3. Truth Be Told

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Armie gets brave. Timmy styles it out. Love is in the air...or is it? 💛

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The pictures are mine👍

  
It took Armie a second or two to register what he was seeing. And even then he couldn’t quite believe it. What the actual fuck?

It was The Man/Boy. The New York fried chicken. The one from the foodbank. The breathtakingly beautiful, talented man who nearly gave him a coronary in the theatre. The one he’d fantasised about last night until he’d come harder than he’d come in a _long_ time. The one he wanted to flip over and lick open until he begged him for more. The one he imagined pushing onto the floor and then pushing _in_ to.… _that_ man…

…was currently hiding in a bush with Archie on his knee! “You trying to steal my dog Tim-o-tay?”

He grabbed Archie’s collar and hauled him out from the branches, then held out his other hand to help Timmy up. Without thought or consideration for the socially distancing rules he pulled him close and impulsively rubbed his thumb over the back of Tim’s knuckles. Fuck, he _does_ have soft hands! Hands that had mesmerised Armie up on the stage, ghosting over his concave stomach. Hands that Armie pictured tight around his throat and his cock, and clawing at his back...

“Ant you ‘eard of The Corona! Two metres, dickheads!” shouted an angry, ginger-haired woman, as she furiously biked past them like the Wicked Witch of the North.

To Armie’s astonishment Timmy pulled his hand away, flipped her the middle finger and shouted, “Oh fuck off! And keep your neb out!” then turned back to him and said, “Sorry. I don’t know what the fuck came over me then. Agh sorry again, for swearing. What with you being a bible-basher and all that…”

Armie tried hard not to smile – and because he wasn’t quite done being ‘serious and intimidating’ yet, he said, “You still haven’t explained what you were doing. Well? I’m waiting.”

Timmy scratched the back of his head and a perfect curl fell across his face. Armie had an urge to grip a fistful of that hair, yank back his head and kiss every one of those tiny freckles on his pale throat. Good god he was even more beautiful up close.

“Err…you’re cute. No! I mean, your _dog’s_ cute! I don’t normally like dogs. Well, I like some dogs. Friendly ones. Little ones. Archie did you say? I wasn’t stealing him honestly, I was err…. I was just…you know…” and Timmy waved at something invisible on the ground as if to explain why he was down there.

Armie stared for a moment then burst out laughing, shaking his head. “Forget I asked. It’s maybe best I don’t know,” and he reached into his pocket and offered Timmy a cigarette, leaning in close to light it. “Come on, walk with me.”

Archie ran ahead and snuffled in the fragrant flower beds as they strolled past the Hospitium and the Observatory. Armie was fascinated by astronomy and would usually be thinking about the evenings he had spent looking skyward through the 170-year-old telescope - but right now he was doing a whole other different type of stargazing. In fact, walking next to this otherworldly creature, it felt like fucking shooting stars were exploding inside him. Even the way Timmy smoked was sending him into orbit…his long fingers…his pouty, pink lips…

“I love this.” said Timmy.

“What?”

“This. Here. The gardens. The old stones. Everything.”

Armie took a drag of his cigarette and gestured towards the ruins. “Those stones, as you call them, are what’s left of St Mary’s Abbey, one of the wealthiest and most powerful Benedictine Monasteries in the whole of England, built in 1088.”

“Really? Fuck that _is_ old!” Tim’s laugh was breathy and sexy - and shot a fucking comet straight to Armie’s cock.

“That’s not the oldest structure still standing in York,” said Armie. The history lesson was helping calm his nerves and focus his mind on something other than the celestial being currently making his stomach somersault and his balls ache. “In fact that building over there…” and he pointed at a round tower, “…was once part of a Roman fort.”

He took a quick sideways glance and was mortified to see that Timmy was studying him intently, with the ghost of a smile dancing on his lips. Oh god, he was probably boring the poor guy to death! As if he would be interested in him blabbering on about ancient ruins. As if he would be interested in him at all!

They finished their cigarettes and stood facing each other at the iron gates, two metres apart in case the Covid-cop was still lurking. Archie sat patiently in between their feet, looking up from one to the other. “Well, I’d best be heading back.” said Armie. “Nice to see you again Tim.”

He picked up his dog’s lead and started to walk away – he really did try and _just leave_ \- but then something compelled him to turn back. “I could um…maybe show you around. If you want. If you’re interested that is…”

Oh fuck, why didn’t he just go home and put the boy out of his mind for good. Why complicate things? Again. He needed to pour cold water on this…this, whatever it was…infatuation – right now! Why did he open his big mouth?

But to Armie’s immense relief, Tim nodded vigorously and said, “Yes, yeah that would be great. It’s not like I’ve anything else to do. And it might stop me getting lost down all the little alleyways around here. They’re a fucking nightmare! Especially after a night on the piss. How I managed to make it home is anybody’s guess. In fact one night…”

Armie cut him off mid-sentence. “Snickelways.”

“What?”

“Snickelways. That’s what they’re called. Not alleyways.”

Timmy grinned up at him. “Is there anything you don’t know?”

Armie laughed out loud. “I don’t get out much, obviously. I just find history really interesting that’s all…”

“I would _love_ for you to show me your snickelways Mr Hammer.” Timmy stared straight at him, tucking the stray curl behind his ear.

Fuck, what a tease! But _was_ he flirting with him? Armie was fairly sure he was – but it wouldn’t be the first time he’d misread the signs. He had to tread carefully. But Archie clearly liked him so that had to be a good sign, didn’t it? What to do…what to do…

He made a decision. “Meet me tomorrow at the bottom of Whip-Ma-Whop-Ma-Gate at one o’clock,” he called as he strode off down the street, not trusting himself to be able to resist just dragging Tim into the nearest goddamn snickelway and…

“You’re gonna whip my _what_ at one o’clock?!?” Timmy shouted after him.

“Oh for goodness sake. It’s a street. Google it. Later!” Armie needed to get away before he made a complete knob of himself. He muttered ‘down boy’ as he headed off home - and for once he wasn’t chastising his wayward pet. In fact he didn’t know whether to hug Archie – or give him a swift boot in the rear for causing all of this. What was he getting himself into?  
  


Timmy had an inkling that Mr Cool Calm & Collected wasn’t the type of person who would tolerate lateness, so he set his alarm to wake him up four hours before they were due to meet, and spent most of the morning agonising over what to wear. In view of their two previous encounters, he was desperate to make a good impression this time instead of making a tit of himself – third time lucky and all that. But he had no idea what the dress-code was for a snickelway-exploration-date.

Was it even a date? The jury was still out on that one but he was certain Armie was keen on him. No ring - check. No mention of a significant other - check. Slightly-wussy dog – check. Definitely-interested vibes – check, check and double check! Timmy had been around long enough to suss out when a guy was hot for him. Although the guy in question was like a fucking Greek God so why on earth he’d be hitting on an out-of-work penniless actor was anybody’s guess...

He decided to play it safe and settled on his blue Adidas joggers, a plain white T-shirt and the Stella McCartney High-tops, then did a little fashion-show-for-one in the cracked mirror that was glued to the back of his door. Not bad, not bad at all. He might be penniless but he knew how to put a killer look together. Thank god he’d not resorted to selling his clothes – yet. It was either that or his body but he was pretty sure he’d get way more for the clothes.

He’d scrutinised Google maps the night before to make sure he knew exactly where the crazy-sounding rendezvous point was – and it turned out to be right at the end of his street! He must have passed it dozens of times, probably with his Beats in his ears and his head in the clouds on his daily jaunts around town, for want of anything better to do.

There _was_ nothing else to do. He didn’t have any books. He didn’t have any friends here. Thank fuck he had his new iPhone because right now, he didn’t even have a TV! In fact since moving into the bedsit, it wasn’t so much Netflix-&-Chill as Pornhub-&-Panic! Would he ever be ditching Old York for New York? Would the theatre re-open any time soon? Where was next month’s rent coming from? What would he eat after he’d used the last of the foodbank vouchers?

Agh! He didn’t want to think about all that – he just wanted a nice day out with his new…friend? The truth was that he was hoping for more than a friendship, but he’d settle for that. Lockdown was a lonely place for sure and he was aching for human contact but if friendship was all that was on offer, he’d take it!

At 12.45pm precisely he did a quick breathing exercise to calm his nerves, popped on his Fendi sunglasses and a large silver ring, had one last check in the mirror and headed off to Whip-Ma-Whop-Ma-Gate.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Its like a virtual tour around York this story. I hope you are enjoying it.
> 
> I would love love love to hear your thoughts - or just come and say hi - comment junkie reporting for duty!
> 
> Stay safe and strong you lovely peeps! 💛


	4. It's Not Easy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The snickelway exploration begins. Timmy tells the truth. Armie feels bad. The weather heats up.🌈🌞

  
Timmy tried hard not to grin like an idiot when he spotted Armie casually leant against the stone wall of the church next to the street sign, waiting for him. Holy fuck he really was a dreamboat - legs that went on for miles in thigh-hugging black jeans and a soft baby-blue T shirt that stretched deliciously tight across his broad shoulders. It took all his willpower not to drool never mind grin!

He willed himself to _just be fucking normal_ but for some bizarre reason he simply couldn’t act to save his life unless he was on a stage or in front of a lens - what was that all about? A little nervous giggle escaped his mouth as he crossed the road.

“Something funny?” said Armie with a frown on his face, pushing off the wall and kicking at a stone on the ground with his brown boots.

“No sorry, sorry it just that I’m… I’m nervous. No, not nervous. Excited. To have another human to speak to I mean. Oh fuck, just ignore me. I’m a weirdo. Anyway, Ey up!”

“Ey up? Are you for real?” Armie shook his head and laughed as he reached for something in his back pocket. “Here, I brought you this.” He handed Tim a little paper-back book. “I thought it might help you find your way home after one of your drunken nights out. Once lockdown ends.”

It was Timmy’s turn to frown. “That’s the second book you’ve given me.” He flicked through the small pages crammed with maps and diagrams of all the streets that should be familiar to him but weren’t. “A Walk Around the Snickelways of York...I love it! Thank you. I’ll add it to my collection which now consists of this, and the cookbook.”

“Do you not like to read?” Armie asked.

“I fucking _love_ to read. I have hundreds of books at home but I was so busy with work that I never got around to buying any over here. And now I can’t afford them so…” he trailed off, realising how pathetic he sounded.

Timmy thought Armie was about to say something – maybe something like, ‘ _I’ve changed my mind, you’re an imbecile. See ya_!’ but then he just held out his hand for the book, flicked to a point halfway through, passed it back open to Timmy and said, “Follow me.”

They headed off down The Shambles with its twisted, timber framed buildings and rough cobbles. Without needing the guidebook, Armie explained that it used to be a butchers’ street and the reason for the buildings being so close together. As they weaved in and out of dark, covered passageways with weird and wonderful names like ‘Whip Dog Alley’ and ‘Hornpot Lane’ he pointed out the place where an execution had once taken place and which building was the oldest, dating back to the fourteenth century.

Timmy walked a step behind, watching _Armie’s_ behind thinking how ‘Hornpot’ was now definitely his new secret nickname for him. And how he would very much like to have an exploration of _his_ dark passageways. And how he could just happily fucking _die_ listening to that voice. It was like his ears were bathing in warm lube – the good stuff.

“How’s the cooking going?” Armie asked him as they emerged out into Kings Square.

Timmy was thrown out of his daydream by the sudden swerve in conversation topic. “The cooking? Oh yeah. I…err…good, thanks. I had a bash at the courgette and cauliflower curry, once I fathomed out that a courgette is a fucking zucchini! It looked like something you’d find in a baby’s diaper but it tasted great. The neighbours complained about the smell though. But they’ve no room to talk – I swear they’re running some sort of sex dungeon upstairs.”

Armie raised an eyebrow and smiled. “Interesting…” he said, then pointed across the square. “Let’s go this way next, down Low Petergate. I’ll show you where Guy Fawkes was born then we’ll walk around the Minster.” He strode off at a pace and Timmy had to jog a little to catch up before happily falling back into a rare silence, letting Armie’s fascinating commentary wash over him again.

The imposing York Minster never failed to take Timmy’s breath away. That was the one thing he had actually bothered to learn about simply because he had never seen anything like it. He wasn’t a religious man but the sheer wonder of the huge gothic structure with its incredible stained-glass windows somehow stirred a powerful visceral sensation inside him. Maybe it was just the familiar comfort of seeing a tall building, albeit completely different to those in his beloved New York but whatever it was, he seized the chance to not look completely thick in front of Mr Encyclopaedia.

“Ah I actually know a little about this. Did you know that construction originally started around eight hundred years ago but it took another two hundred and fifty years before it was finished? I mean, what the fuck were they messing about at?” He laughed and glanced over at Armie to see if he was the least bit impressed. “I did a guided tour before lockdown. Fucking amazing. Oops sorry for swearing again.”

“Timmy, I have no idea why you have the notion that your potty-mouth bothers me. Or that I’m religious. Neither of those things are true. So just relax.” And he reached out and rubbed Timmy’s shoulder. He squirmed slightly under Armie’s firm touch and a wonderful shiver ran down his spine. Oh fuck, if this is what an innocent shoulder rub does to him, god forbid if he touched his cock or arse - he’d probably melt in a puddle of his own cum! In fact he was starting to sweat a bit right now.

“I’m chuffing sweltered! This weather is all or nowt.” Timmy grabbed any opportunity he could to practise his newly acquired northern lingo. It might come in useful if he was stuck here for good and needed to audition for a part in Emmerdale or Coronation Street.

“Well you know what they say about the weather in Yorkshire - if you don’t like it, wait five minutes.” Armie pointed towards a large, grassy area. “Come on, let’s go sit by that tree for a minute.”

They walked around the front of the Minster and into Deans Park and both collapsed onto the grass under the cool shade of a huge oak tree. Timmy laid back with his hands behind his head and looked up into the branches. “Thanks for this Armie. I really mean it. I’ve been so fucking lonely. Apart from telling the neighbours to frig-off, you’re the only person I’ve spoken to in the last two days. So thank you. By the way, I’ve been meaning to ask, where’s Archie?”

Armie sat with his back against the thick trunk of the tree and stretched out his legs. “I decided to leave him at home. He gets grumpy when its too hot. He’s a bit of a diva.” Timmy sensed that Armie was looking him up and down so he wasn’t surprised when he said, “I hope you don’t mind me asking but how does someone wearing designer clothes end up at a food bank?”

It was a valid question but Tim cringed all the same. He knew he would have to explain this at some point. He took a deep breath and, still staring up at the tree said, “Long story short. I’m an actor and I landed the dream job along with the dream apartment. Over by the river. Everything was going great and I was fucking pumped to be playing Hamlet. It was kinda surreal. I got a decent up-front fee but I pretty much blew it straight away on clothes and…you know, partying, because I was _then_ promised a weekly wage from the ticket sales. So I thought I’d be ok. But two days before opening night, lockdown happened and the company that was bankrolling the production suspended all the funding. But I can’t blame them. Basically I was the fucking moron who didn’t take coronavirus seriously and wasted all my money. And the worse thing is, I worked my ass off for that role. I’d left it too late to go home, so here I am.”

Timmy daren’t even look at Armie but his silence said everything - _Yep he thinks I’m a complete wazzock_ \- but then Armie suddenly jumped up and said, “Wait here. Don’t go anywhere,” and ran off down the footpath and out through the back gate of the park. Timmy bolted upright. What the fuck?!?

Dappled sunlight flickered across Timmy’s face and despite the sunglasses, the pain in his eyes was clear for Armie to see – and he felt like he’d been punched in the gut.

Here he was, all self-righteous handing out charity food to the poor guy, thinking he was doing a good deed when all along, his own fucking company was responsible for putting him in that predicament in the first place! How many more of the cast and crew had been affected? Why had the fucking funding been pulled? He felt sick to the stomach. And a complete fraud.

His mouth was so dry that talking felt impossible. There was a small grocery shop open just around the corner so he fished a disposable face mask out of his back pocket and ran to fetch them both an iced tea. When he got back, Timmy was sat up with his sunglasses off, biting his bottom lip.

God, he was breath-taking. Armie’s heart broke a little bit – correction, a lot! He’d felt like this might actually be the start of something real, but now…he could see it slipping through his fingers. How the fuck could he tell him who he was now?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading - let me know if you liked it pleeeeease! I cherish every comment 😊
> 
> The little book is great for anyone wanting to explore York - its done in a handwritten style - very clever. A fascinating read. And much fun following the various different routes - with boozers along the way! 
> 
> The pictures are mine again - The Shambles and York Minster. And all the street names are real!
> 
> Stay safe 🤍🤍🤍


	5. Why Can't I Be You?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Timmy is baffled. Armie runs away. They kiss!💋

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok so this is a first for me - two chapters in two days! I had nothing this morning - then as I was editing a picture I took of Lady Peckett's Yard, an idea came to me - and ta-da! (I can see this from my office btw so I'll keep my eyes peeled for A & T) 😉
> 
> Shed Seven song title again

  
Timmy was baffled. What had just happened? One minute they were casually chatting about the mutt and the Minster, the next minute Hornpot Hammer was hotfooting it out of the park like his arse was on fire!

He did a mental re-run of the conversation they’d just had – if you could call it a conversation – and he literally couldn’t come up with anything _that_ bad. Yes, he’d confessed to having been a dickhead and spending all his money. Yes, he was a desperate, skint charity case trapped in a foreign country. Yes, he knew he was a little bit unconventional. But did that really warrant someone running away from him? Actually running!?

And how long should he wait before he accepted he’d been ditched? But then again, Armie had told him ‘don’t go anywhere’. He decided to give it five minutes - and after ten, was just about to stand up and leave when he saw him striding over the grass carrying two plastic cups. Oh the relief - which was ridiculous really given that they’d only met two days ago but still, it was nice to know he hadn’t been dumped – yet.

“I remember you saying you liked tea and there’s a little place around the corner that does a killer iced tea. Here, I hope you like it.”

Timmy was still completely bewildered but gladly accepted the cold drink. Their fingers touched as he reached up to take the cup from Armie’s hand. And just like in the Museum gardens when he’d helped him up, and earlier with the shoulder rub, the chemistry was tangible. From his knelt-up position he was at eye level with Armie’s bits and he had an urge to sling the drink and pull him down onto the grass next to him for a good old fashioned snog-in-the-park bump-n-grind. Instead he sat back down and said, “Thanks, but…never mind.”

“What?” Armie tipped his head back and drank his tea down in one go then wiped his mouth - with the fingers Timmy had just touched.

“Umm…why did you run away? Was it something I said?” Timmy watched his face carefully but Armie was avoiding eye contact. What was the deal with this guy? Granted, it was very early days but this feeling, this connection, was impossible to ignore – so why the mixed messages?

“Just thirsty I guess. Come on, lets walk back around by the Holy Trinity Church, where we…err…where the foodbank is and that will bring us out near the end of your street. Then I’m afraid I need to get back to work.”

Timmy was disappointed that their first date-that-wasn’t-a-date was coming to an end so soon and they fell into a slightly awkward silence as they made their way through the park, down by the side of the church and back around to where they’d started. He idly flicked through the book as they walked so as not to seem too bothered by Armie’s abrupt turn-around. But the truth was that he liked him. _Really_ liked him. And Timmy had never been all that great at taking things slowly.

“This is Lady Peckett’s Yard,” said Armie, leading them down a particularly dark snickelway on the way to Timmy’s street. “Rumour has it that…”

It was now or never. Timmy had a quick gander around in case anyone was about then pushed him backwards against the medieval stone wall, grabbed his face in both hands and pulled him down into a kiss. Armie made the tiniest of groans and opened his mouth as Tim’s thumb rubbed down his throat - and that was all the green light Timmy needed to deepen the kiss and push his thigh in between his legs and…

“Whoa there! What the fuck are you doing?” Armie gripped Tim’s shoulders and held him away at arm’s length. “I’m…err…straight.”

Timmy was astounded. He shook off Armie’s grip and stepped back. “Yeah right! And so is spaghetti until it gets in hot water mate! Straight my arse! If you’re the pasta, then I’m the pot!”

He was panting with a mixture of desire and anger – and a generous sprinkling of mortal embarrassment. It was anybody’s guess which part of his brain that bullshit had come from but it was too late now, he couldn’t un-say it. He saw Armie clench his fists and tighten his jaw and Tim braced himself for a punch in the face.

A loud burst of laughter was _not_ what he’d prepared for. “That…has got to be the cheesiest fucking thing I have heard in a _long_ time.” Armie threw his head back and laughed some more before wiping tears from his eyes. “You really are something else Timotay. I think its time I left. Later!” And to Tim’s shock and indignation he abruptly turned and marched off down the street, chuckling to himself as he went.

As Timmy watched him go, the humiliation turned into anger. He put the hours of voice-projection training into practice and yelled after him, “Oh I’m glad you find me amusing, you lanky streak of piss! You kissed me for twenty whole seconds before you realised you didn’t like it? Really? And I’ll tell you summat else - you can shove your food parcels up your uptight, straight bumhole! I’d rather eat dust!”

As he stomped off back to his bedsit, three conflicting thoughts popped into his head: First off, thank fuck for lockdown because as far as he could see, only a handful of people had witnessed his manic outburst. Secondly, what days did Armie say he worked at the foodbank because he needed to avoid him like the plague. And number three, had he just managed to fuck up his only chance of friendship this side of the Atlantic by being wildly inappropriate and forcing himself on someone? And then acting like a nut-job? Agh it didn’t bear thinking about.

But as he threw himself on his sofa-bed and pulled a blanket over his head he realised he could still taste Armie’s tongue on his mouth. And feel the ghost of his hard cock on his hip.

That kiss! _That fucking kiss_. Armie laid on his bed, closed his eyes and replayed the whole thing over and over in his mind. The feeling of Tim’s soft, firm fingers on his face and neck. The pressure of his slim, strong hips against his groin. The vanilla aroma in his hair. The low, throaty groan as their tongues touched. The taste of him…

So why, for the love of god had he pushed him away? And said he was straight? And, worst of all, laughed at him and ran away – twice!?

But then again, isn’t that what he’d always done? The Armand Douglas Hammer default position – to run away and hide. Isn’t that why he was in England, thousands of miles away from his family? And the reason his only real friend was a slightly indifferent Welsh Terrier?

So once more a combination of fear and nerves and just overwhelming emotions had made him react like a total douchebag. Because he was never brave enough to face up to …well, anything. Himself.

If it wasn’t for the fact that it was just about the hottest kiss he’d ever had and that Timmy was the most captivating man he’d ever met, he’d gladly up-sticks and leave and pretend the whole thing had never happened. That he’d never wandered into that theatre. That he’d kept his dog on a leash. That he’d never started falling head over heels for the young American who had mesmerized him from the first second he clapped eyes on him.

But oh that kiss! That fucking kiss! Armie was hard just thinking about it and his cock bulged in the shorts he’d changed into. The possibility that he might have blown a chance of finding – dare he say it – love, was unbearable.

He was so conflicted but he decided that instead of wallowing in his own failings he’d prioritise trying to find out what had happened with the theatre production wages. And why the crew-members weren’t furloughed on full pay like their other employees. Now that was something he could sort out. Something nice and practical requiring zero emotional investment. If he could understand the situation, he could work out how to put it right – and then work out how to deal with his growing feelings for Timmy.

He went downstairs to his office and rattled off an email to the person handling the company’s arts sponsorship funding – and despite the fact that it was the weekend, he fully expected a prompt response.

**From:** Karen J Lumley  
 **To:** Armand D Hammer  
 **Sent:** Sunday 10 May 2020 19.41  
 **Subject:** Re **HAMLET – URGENT EXPLANATION REQUIRED REGARDING THE ACTORS PAY**

Mr Hammer, I hope you are keeping well.

As per the terms of the contract with the Rose Theatre Company, all the actors were hired on a self-employed basis, which is standard procedure for theatre productions. Therefore they do not qualify for the government-backed furlough scheme. We have fully complied with our financial commitments as laid out in the contract and as such, bear no responsibility for any further payments until the production of Hamlet resumes in due course.

Regards,  
K J Lumley  
Finance Associate - AH International

So it was true – they’d just left the whole cast and crew high and dry with no income. That would be easy to sort out wouldn’t it? And although that wasn’t his department, as son of the CEO, surely he would have some clout when it came to decisions like this. As for the immediate issue of Timmy - simple solution, he could just arrange for some money to be transferred into his bank account couldn’t he?

But hang on, how weird would that look? And he would hate for Tim to feel like a charity case once he’d managed to connect the dots between Armie Hammer, AH International and The York Hammer Trust. And besides, it would mean he would no longer need the foodbank – which would mean Armie might never see him again. But after today’s shit-show he wouldn’t blame Timmy if he never _wanted_ to see him again – especially after the things he had shouted at him. Oh god…

“What shall I do Archie? Help me out buddy.” Archie cocked his head to one side, barked once and wandered off into the garden.

Oh fuck, he needed to sleep on this for a night – or five. Timmy was due back at the foodbank on Friday…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for your lovely comments - I know I bang on about this all the time but your input and encouragement is so important to me. 😊
> 
> No pressure but I would love love love to hear your thoughts on this latest instalment. Your comments make me laugh, smile and just generally make my day. 👍
> 
> Peace & Love dear readers.♥️🖤🤍


	6. Let It Ride

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Timmy explores the city. Armie has a confession to make. They kiss again!😘

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yep, I'm still on holiday and yep, its still raining so here you go...another chapter. Enjoy!

  
Timmy awoke late Monday morning with a banging headache, a raging boner, and a text from Jodene at the Citizens Advice Bureau:

**Sorry Tim but the foodbank vouchers can only be redeemed once a week on a Friday. Let me know if you need any more assistance.**

Oh shit-houses! On the assumption that Armie worked there on the same day every week, it looked like there was no avoiding him so he figured he had five days to come up with a plan. In the meantime he decided to read the little York Snickelways book cover to cover and to explore his temporary hometown on his permitted daily exercise.

On Tuesday he walked along the tree-lined banks of the River Ouse, crossed over the Millennium footbridge and through the picturesque Rowntree Park on the other side. On Wednesday he followed the longest route in the book that took him right from Bootham Bar to Micklegate Bar where the heads of slain Royalty were impaled on spikes during the War of the Roses.

And on Thursday he walked along the curiously named Dame Judi Dench Walk (he Googled later to discover she was in fact born in York) through the Museum Gardens again, and back around by the famous Betty’s Tea Rooms where there would normally be a long queue of tourists waiting to be seated.

All the while he kept his eyes peeled for the tall, handsome, wildly infuriating guy who had crawled under his skin, and the little brown dog who had brought them together. But they were nowhere to be seen.

Although he thoroughly enjoyed himself, foodbank-day loomed like the fucking spectres that allegedly haunted many of the local pubs, and by Friday afternoon, he had worked himself up into a panic – _to go or not to go, that is the question?_ He inspected the remaining contents of his food cupboard and decided that he could _not_ survive the week on a slightly-off yoghurt, some sprouting potatoes and two tins of beans.

He decided the best chance of avoiding Armie would be either to get there as soon as it opened at four o clock or to go near to closing time at eight - but then he spent so long deciding what to wear (nothing to do with impressing Hornpot Hammer, no siree) that he missed the 4 o clock deadline. After much debate he decided on his pale blue YSL ripped skinny jeans and a Louis Vuitton black T shirt. He tried on the LV bag but he thought it might be a step too far – he wasn’t sure Yorkshire was quite ready for man-bags.

At the very last minute he remembered he needed a face mask and after watching a quick You Tube tutorial, he made a very fetching one out of a peach motif sock and set off to the church.

  
There was nobody waiting in line when he got to the door so he popped the sock-mask thing on and casually-as-you-like meandered into the almost empty hall. No sign of Armie – good! Just get in, get the loot, and get out Timo, easy peasy.

Ah who was he kidding. There was Armie looking like a wet-dream in khaki coloured cords and a soft, navy blue T-shirt, patiently explaining to a little old lady that no, she couldn’t wear her mask on her head like a bonnet. As soon as they saw each other across a large table of fruit and veg, their eyes lit up and Timmy had no doubts at all that their feelings were mutual despite what had happened.

“I thought you weren’t coming,” said Armie, walking towards him with his arms held out. “And is that a sock?” Timmy didn’t even bother pretending he wasn’t blatantly checking him out – every delightful 78 inches of him! 

He pushed his over-long hair back from his forehead. “I decided I couldn’t live on dust after all. And yes, this is what you’d call lockdown-chic. Hey, about the other day, I’m sorry for shouting. And err…the other thing. I…”

“Forget about it,” said Armie. “Here look, I already sorted you some groceries out.” and he led the way over to a table on which there were two York Hammer Trust bags filled to the brim with tins, pasta and fresh produce. “I thought I could maybe…you know…help you carry them home?”

Timmy wondered if his big beaming smile was obvious through the sock-mask. “Yes please.”

While Armie dealt with the last remaining stragglers and helped pack up the hall, Tim sat and waited for him with a cup of coffee. It was hard to not stare as he bent down to lift heavy boxes and haul sacks of potatoes into the storage room (Biceps – check. Firm ass – check. Strong thighs – check) so he acted like he was really interested in a pamphlet he’d picked up, until he realised it was ‘ _Men – Supporting Your Partner Through the Menopause’._

“Anything interesting in there Timo?” Armie laughed, walking over to him with the hessian bags. “Come on. Lead the way to Chez Chalamet,” and handed him one of them. 

Although it was only nine o clock and still light, the streets were eerily empty and quiet. Timmy could almost sense the spirits of the Roman Centurions he’d read about earlier, marching down the uneven roads and he thought that he really ought to curb his obsession with The Ghosts of York website because it was actually starting to spook him out. If only he had someone to cuddle up to on a night…

They walked in a comfortable silence back to Tim’s place - down Goodramgate which would normally be teaming with rowdy lads, revved up or commiserating from the York City footie match. Then onto The Stonebow which pre-lockdown was the drop-off point for coachloads of raucous, fun-loving Geordie lasses with their obligatory hen-do ‘L’ plates and blown up jonnies.

It wasn’t until they crossed the stone bridge over the River Foss and onto the cobbles of Fossgate that Armie spoke. “I love this street. You should see it when the food festival is on. It’s amazing. And that at the end there...“ he pointed to the seven-hundred-year-old gate-house to the city, “…is Walmgate Bar. Did you know that it has the only remaining barbican and working portcullis in the whole country? Sorry, sorry. Just tell me if I’m boring you.”

“You’re not. But here’s me.” They stopped outside a three story, red brick Georgian building with sash windows and ornate cornicing. “Coming up?” said Timmy as he punched in a code for the communal door and led them up a narrow staircase and into his apartment.

“Ta-Da! Welcome to my humble abode! Sorry about the mess.” Timmy put his bag on the counter and quickly gathered up his discarded clothes from the earlier trying-on session and stuffed them down the side of the sofa bed.

“Do you want a coffee? Or a beer? I think I have a couple of cans but they might be a bit warm. This mini-fridge thing is useless.” Timmy chose not to dwell on Armie’s look of pity as he perused the small, shabby space and busied himself getting them both a can of Carling.

“Who’s that?” Armie asked, pointing to a brightly coloured pop-art poster that Timmy had stuck over a particularly offensive stain on the wall above the bed.

“Ah that’s Kid Cudi. My idol. Dead ass amazing. I met him once backstage at a gig. Best night of my teenage life. Cheers!” And he handed him a warm-ish beer and clinked it together with his.

Armie walked over to the rail of clothes and ran his hand lightly over the neat row of T-shirts, jeans, and sweatshirts. “You really do like your designers don’t you.”

“And that rail, my friend, is why I am on the bones of my arse. Anyway, I can spot a Brioni T-shirt a mile off. How does a foodbank volunteer afford Brioni?”

Timmy was amused to see Armie blush. “I err…I’m actually in property development. It’s a family company. Boring I know. But if you knew my family, you’d understand why it was inevitable that I ended up working for them.” Then to Timmy’s astonishment Armie did an extremely convincing impression of Al Pacino’s Michael Corleone:

_“Just when I thought I was out, they pull me back in.”_

Timmy laughed, “Not bad, not bad at all.” He really was an interesting man. “Tell me more.”

Armie sat down on the small, uncomfortable sofa. “There’s nothing to tell. I had the daft notion of being an actor when I was younger. But my Mom caught me kissing my co-star backstage at the high school production of Guys and Dolls and so that was the end of that pipedream. She actually screamed and told me I was possessed.”

Timmy frowned. “So who’d you kiss?”

He saw Armie take a deep breath and then he looked him straight in the eye. “Well put it this way, it wasn’t one of the Dolls.”

“I knew it! I fucking knew it!” Timmy shouted and clapped his palm onto his thigh. “Armie, you had me thinking lockdown horniness had made me go fucking crazy!”

“Sorry but…fuck Timmy! You took me by surprise! How did you expect me to react when you just launched yourself at me?”

Timmy couldn’t really argue with that. There was definitely an element of lockdown horniness and a mild porn-hub addiction that had surely been contributory factors in the ‘great snickelway incident’. “How about we start again? I’m Timothée Hal Chalamet. Pleased to meet you.” and he stepped across the small room and held his hand out.

Armie laughed and shook his hand. “Armand Douglas Hammer. Likewise.”

Tim sunk down onto the floor crossed legged with his back to the wall and took a swig out of the can. “Armand Hammer?! Fuck, your parents must really hate you!”

“I was named after my grandpa. I guess the plan was that the name gets passed on but it doesn’t look like that’s on the cards now. My ex-wife was desperate for kids but …I don’t know. I think I always knew it wouldn’t last.”

Married? Intriguing… Timmy pondered on that for a moment. “So how come you’re in the UK?”

“Ahh now that is a story for another night.” Armie stood up, tipped his head back and drank the rest of his beer then fiddled with the empty can for a moment. “Look, I don’t know how you feel about this and I know we’d be breaking lockdown rules and all that but you said you liked books. Would you like to come and check out my library?”

Timmy looked up at him from his spot on the floor and felt butterflies in his stomach. “You have an actual library? Or is that some weird Yorkshire code for something fucking kinky that I’ve never heard of?”

Armie shook his head and smiled. “I’m busy at work tomorrow but how about we meet at the Art Gallery on Sunday? Say two o clock? I could make us lunch?”

Timmy stood up facing him, definitely not two metres away. “I would love that Armie.” He daren’t move. His heart was pounding and his cock was swelling.

Armie blushed again. “Well I’d best be going. Archie gets grumpy if I leave him alone for too long. See you on Sunday Tim.”

He turned to go, reached the door, and then spun around and bent to kiss Timmy full on the mouth. He gently held the back of his neck with one hand and stroked down his arm with the other. It only lasted a few seconds and as he pulled off, he ran his thumb over Tim’s full bottom lip and whispered, almost to himself, “Fuck, you really are beautiful.” and with that he was out the door, down the stairs and onto the street.

Timmy was momentarily stunned. He stood staring at the door with his mouth open, licking his bottom lip – then quickly ran to the window, pulled up the sash and shouted, “Which art Gallery?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok so my chapters will slow down considerably once I am back at work again on Monday but I hope this will keep you going for a while.
> 
> I know its a very slow burn this one but there will be cock-action at some point 😉
> 
> Once again, I really appreciate every kudos and comment and LOVE to hear what you think😊
> 
> Stay safe & sane dear readers!🍑💛


	7. Nothing To Live Down

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Archie is on edge. Armie is nervous. Timmy is embarrassed. They kiss again!💓
> 
> (Two of these pics are mine taken at the start of lockdown, hence the empty streets. The one inside 'Armie's' pile is from an article about the history of the property)

  
  
Armie had spent the last few days in frustrating negotiations with the team in charge of arts funding to try and secure a pay deal for the Rose Theatre Company. He’d even interrupted his father on the driving range in an attempt to work out a solution which, with hindsight, was a big mistake. Huge.

“There’s something you’re not telling me son. You’ve not got yourself in hot water again have you my boy? How come this is so important right now?” Mr Hammer Senior shouted down the phone from his golf club in the Caymans.

Damn, he never could manage to hide anything from his Dad. But what could he say? _Its important because one of the actors, who just happens to be the subject of my every waking thought and most of my sleeping ones, is now living in poverty because of us. And by the way Pops, she’s a he._

He just couldn’t – yet.

And when would be the right time to fess up to Timmy? Probably before their ill-fated snickelway date and _definitely_ before he’d kissed him and told him he was beautiful - but that ship had sailed. If only the money had come through already, it would have made things so much easier.

So by Sunday when things still weren’t resolved, Armie was in an unusual state of anxiety as he stood waiting for Timmy by the statue in front of the Art Gallery. He’d already walked a mile around the city walls to try and burn off some nervous energy but it hadn’t worked and even Archie was on high alert, aggressively lunging and snapping at any dozy pigeons that got too close.

Should he come clean today? Or would it ruin their first real date? Or even worse, ruin things for good? Although he was absolutely adamant that nothing intimate was going to happen today – it was just lunch…and maybe a kiss – that’s all!

Archie abandoned his pigeon tormenting, let out a loud yap and started frantically wagging his tail as Timmy strode through the archway of Bootham Bar carrying one of the York Hammer Trust bags. He was a vision in all black – slim fit pants with a piped edge, a Stella McCartney t-shirt and lace up shiny leather boots. A weird little cross-body tote with what resembled paperclips dangling from it and a huge chunky necklace completed the look.

Armie muttered an involuntary _‘fuck me’_ and felt his previous ‘nothing intimate’ resolve crumbling already!

Timmy looked up from his phone, waved at them and jogged across the empty road. “Hi you two,” he said, and bent down to rub the top of Archie’s head and stretched up to kiss Armie on the cheek. “Sorry I’m a bit late. I’ve had a laundry crisis. The communal washing machine has literally shredded my one and only bed sheet into ribbons. Turns out a wire from the upstairs neighbour’s massive bra has got stuck in the drum. Thank fuck it wasn’t any of my clothes. He owes me new bedding!”

Armie just wanted to scoop up his clothes - and him - and carry them off to his house, permanently. “He?”

“Yep, he.” Tim laughed. “We’re a peculiar bunch us HMO Covid-refugees.”

The heat of that kiss – that tiny kiss – had caused a flush to creep up Armie’s throat. “Don’t worry, I have spare sheets. I hope you’re hungry by the way.”

“Well when you said Sunday lunch, I wasn’t sure what you meant so I haven’t eaten anything yet. So yes, I’m starving. Although my Northern friends would batter me for calling it ‘lunch’.” And in an astonishingly accurate broad Yorkshire accent Timmy said, “Its breakfast, dinner n tea luv!”

They both laughed and Armie fell a little bit more in love. Beautiful, talented, _and_ funny. Perfect. But nope, nothing was going to happen today…he wanted to be good.

“Who’s this guy?” Tim said pointing at the statue.

Talking about history was good. Calming in fact. It took Armie’s mind off tight trousers and black leather and ripped-up sheets. “This here, is the wonderful, talented William Etty, a nineteenth century painter from York, famous for his controversial male nudes. He acquired somewhat of a reputation for his indecent works and caused quite a stir at the time. But he did a lot for the city and was instrumental in the restoration of the walls and the Minster following the arson attack in 1829. I have one of his paintings at home.”

Timmy stared up at him with a small smile on his face then reached out and lightly ran his fingers up and down Armie’s back. “I like the way you say things.”

Armie willed himself to _just stop fucking blushing!_ It was ridiculous. It was a peck on the cheek and a back tickle, that’s all. But all the same, he couldn’t wait to get Timmy behind closed doors. But nothing was going to happen today – no way!

“Come on, I live just there.” Archie pulled on his lead as they walked the short distance across Exhibition Square to St Leonards Place, an impressive crescent of whitewashed houses.

“I fucking love this street!” said Tim. “It always reminds me of that scene in Oliver! You know the one.” and to Armie’s bemusement he broke into a virtuoso performance of ‘Who Will Buy’ from the famous musical, spinning on his heels and waving his arms about.

Armie looked around – kissing in public and al-fresco show-tunes was _definitely not_ his thing …and yet he would happily kiss and dance and sing in the middle of the Knavesmire on a race day with this wonderful man!

“This where your rental is?” asked Tim, pointing down the street, catching his breath.

Ok Armie, you can do this, he mentally counselled himself, but images of Timmy’s little, depressing room with its damp patch on the ceiling and mould around the window frame kept flashing into his head. “I…err..own it actually. The whole block in fact.”

Timmy didn’t say anything so Armie carried on. “Well, the family company owns it. It used to be the old council offices and the original plan was to turn it into a luxury hotel. But after years of battling with the planning people we gave up and converted it to residential units instead. This is my place, this first house here.” And he walked through a low, iron gate and opened the front door to a huge, five-storey, Georgian townhouse.

Archie ran straight inside, skittering across the tiled floor of the entrance hall before scampering up the stairs. Armie turned around to see that Timmy had stopped dead in his tracks on the pavement. His heart sank and his stomach lurched. “Come on in. Lunch – sorry, dinner - is almost ready.”

“Armie? What the fuck? The whole house? Oh god I’m so embarrassed. I don’t think I can…” and he turned as if to leave.

Instinctively Armie stepped forward, reached out and grabbed his hand. “Timmy please…I know what you’re thinking but I don’t care about any of that. Material things I mean. I just care about…you. Please. Come in.”

Timmy didn’t want to turn up empty handed to Armie’s place but he had no clue what to expect. Like none. When he said he had a library, did that mean a bookcase or an actual room full of books? And what the hell did ‘in property development’ mean? Tim thought it sounded vaguely like something to do with painting and decorating – which still didn’t help with the ‘what to take to the date’ debate.

He called his Mom for advice but immediately rejected her suggestion of a bottle of Moet (the bank account would not stretch to that) and settled on two large bottles of Yorkshire Terrier Ale and a half-decent Malbec from the peculiarly named House of Trembling Madness on the way to the art gallery. Quite apt all things considered.

He’d chosen his outfit carefully but by the time he’d stuffed all the things he thought he might need in the pockets of his tight trousers, (condoms, cigarettes, chewey) he had no room for his phone. So he’d hauled everything back out and decided to risk the Louis Vuitton messenger bag – and prayed he wouldn’t get his head kicked in by any northern yobbos.

He wondered if Armie might walk him home after their lunch-date and whether that might mean there was the possibility of some bed-sit-cock-action? But following the bra-wire-sheet-shredding debacle, that was now out of the question. He might be destitute but bare mattresses were a no-no. Yuk! And there was no way he was getting down-and-dirty on the floor – the carpet was minging!

The only reason he’d had to wash all his bedding in the first place was because of Hornpot Hammer. After that impromptu kiss and neck-grab, he’d spent the last two nights wanking himself silly fantasising about being fucked senseless by him. What he conjured up in his mind was way more arousing than any boring video so at least it had curbed his spiralling Pornhub addiction.

No, it was better to be prepared to stay at Armie’s, he reasoned, and there was room in his bag for a spare pair of undies, his toothbrush, a hair-bobble in case of morning bed-head and a small bottle of lube - so he packed them too for good measure.

Fuck, if this really was just a look around his library (whatever that meant) and a meat-and-two-veg dinner (in the literal sense), then he was going to look like a right twerp with all this paraphernalia!

When they reached Armie’s _massive fucking mansion_ , Timmy realised he did in fact look like a right twerp! He was mortified. He’d obviously completely misread the guy. As if he had a chance with someone who lived in a place like this, for Christ sake! What must Armie have been thinking when he came to _his_ place? Oh god, this was far worse than he’d imagined.

He was just about to turn on his heels and go, and most likely crack open the wine and chug it down on his journey back to the hell-hole, when Armie grabbed his hand and leant down and kissed him on the side of his neck, just under his ear.

Oh shit – he’d found his weak spot. Yep, the sure-fire route to Timmy’s nether regions was along the nipples-and-neck highway and he allowed himself to be pulled into the large, bright entrance hall with its black and white tiled floor and sweeping staircase. Armie pushed the door shut, locked it, and took the bag from Timmy. “You didn’t need to bring anything Tim. I have…”

Timmy yanked his hand away. “You have what Armie? A wine cellar? Your own private vineyard? It wouldn’t fucking surprise me! Why didn’t you say anything? I feel like a right knob-head!” He knew he sounded like a petulant child but he couldn’t help himself. It took all his willpower not to stamp his feet.

Armie calmly put the bag on the floor and took a step closer. “Oh do shut up Chalamet.” He slowly ran his hands down Timmy’s back - then quick as a flash, cupped his arse cheeks, hoisted him up and plonked him on top of a narrow console table in the hallway.

“I’m going to kiss you now, ok.” And without waiting for an answer, he held Tim’s face and pressed their open mouths together.

Timmy resisted… for about a second before parting his thighs wide and wrapping a leg around Armie to pull him closer. He pushed his hips forwards and upwards to get some friction on his already semi-hard cock against Armie’s groin. Their tongues slid together and they tugged at each other’s hair and clothes as the kiss deepened. Tim slid his hand in the tight space in between them and felt around frantically for a zipper. Armie groaned low in his throat and…

…then pulled away and casually picked up the bag of booze! “Better now? Come on, or my meat will be ruined. And before you ask, no, that’s not a euphemism.”

He crossed the hallway and pushed open a set of double doors into a huge kitchen leaving Timmy hard and panting on the table. “And yes, actually I do have a wine cellar.”

Two thoughts were running through Timmy’s mind - _Thank fuck I brought condoms and lube because I definitely want that magnificent beast somewhere inside me._ And, _Shit, he locked the door!_

He hopped off the table, rearranged his cock into a less obvious position and followed Armie into the kitchen. It was going to be an interesting day - locked in the palatial pile of a horny, rich, very confusing giant. What’s the worst that could happen?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, thank you for reading! 
> 
> I hope you are still liking this - its a joy to write actually. 
> 
> I feel like this fandom has been on a roller-coaster-from-hell these past few weeks don't you? So once again, light and fluffy is the order of the day methinks. 
> 
> I would love for you to leave a comment - no pressure but it really does make my day to know that people enjoy my ramblings. Oh and I am available on Tumblr and facebook for any Northern translations if required 😁
> 
> P & L dear readers.🖤💛


	8. Getting Better

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Timmy tries not to freak out. Armie shows off his culinary skills. There's a surprise in the basement 🌟

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pics all mine 🙂

  
Timmy had never felt comfortable in flashy places. He had a tendency to get anxious and clumsy and it was only a matter of time before he spilled something or broke something or knocked something over. So despite the recent knee-trembling table-snog, he wasn’t at all surprised to feel his boner flop like one of the week-old parsnips in his food parcel as he stood there in the doorway of Armie’s massive kitchen.

It was a vision of brilliant white cabinets and pale wood countertops dominated by a huge central island with an array of complicated looking copper utensils dangling above it. Armie was already in full-on MasterChef mode, poking some sort of probe into a huge lump of meat that he’d just taken out of the oven. “So this is where the magic happens.” he said, gesturing around the professional looking cooking area. “It won’t be long. I just need to finish off the vegetables.”

Tim was hoping that ‘where the magic happens’ would involve a probe of an altogether different kind and he unconsciously patted the little bag that still hung across his body – if that kiss was a taste of things to come, those supplies would come in handy for sure. All he needed to do now was to just _stop wigging out!_

He stepped into the room, looked around and tried to conquer the rising ‘what the fuck am I doing here’ panic by doing his best impression of nonchalance. “Where’s Archie?”

“Crashed out in his bedroom probably. He’s technically a pensioner in dog years. But don’t worry, he’ll make an appearance once I start carving the beef.”

Bedroom? Did he say bedroom? Oh god this was not making Tim feel any better. The mutt has a fucking bedroom? Utter madness!

He walked over to the floor-to-ceiling glass doors that led out onto a white stone patio filled with pots full of brightly coloured lilies. There was a vine-draped wooden gazebo sheltering a huge hot tub off to the left and a decking area with two rattan daybeds and a black granite water feature on the right. An English Oak tree cast dappled shade over the sunny grassed area and bright red maples were clustered along the high walls at each side. It was a weird mix of traditional English country garden and Japanese zen and the effect was stunning. “Fuck Armie, who even lives in a place like this? Look at that garden!”

Armie looked up from his meat-probing. “Ah I can’t take all the credit for that. I designed it but I have a gardener to take care of it.”

“Of course you do,” muttered Timmy under his breath. He nervously scrubbed at the back of his head and shifted from foot to foot, not really knowing where to sit or what to do or whether to take his man-bag off or not. He was clearly way off the mark when he thought that a property developer was a decorator. _Who the fuck is this man?_

Armie pointed to the tan coloured leather stools arranged at the end of the kitchen island. “I thought we could eat in here. I have a dining room but it’s a bit formal. Is that ok?”

“What do you think? Do you imagine for one minute that I’m gonna say, Armie, I insist we eat in your dining room.” said Timmy, rolling his eyes. “You must have seriously thought you’d entered the gates of hell when you came to my place. I won’t lie man – I’m slightly freaking out here.”

Armie wiped his hands on a tea-towel and poured red wine into two large glasses. Tim couldn’t fail to notice that it wasn’t his wine. “Look,” Armie said, walking over to him, “you’re gonna have to get over this…this…barrier. Yes, I have money. So what. And if it’ll clear the air, I’ve been nervous as hell all day. Please, just relax. Here…drink this and chill the fuck out.”

As he handed Tim the wine, he stroked gently down the side of his waist, over his hip and gave his ass a light squeeze. “Here’s to a drama-free afternoon,” he said, clinking their glasses together. “And before you say anything, the bottle you brought is perfectly fine but I’d already opened this one earlier to let it breathe.”

 _What the fuck does ‘let it breathe’ even mean_ , Tim thought, but he already felt like a complete oik so he stayed quiet and watched as Armie went back to his meal-prep, expertly trimming green beans and whisking some sort of batter in a large bowl. That little ass rub was nice though. He hopped up onto one of the stools and took a sip of wine – then another, then another. “I’m sorry, it’s just that… it’s all a bit too much. Not what I expected I mean. All of this. And I can’t guarantee it’ll be drama free – I know myself too well.”

Armie gave him a wry smile. “I’ll give you the grand tour later. If you’re freaking out in here, wait until you see the basement.”

Having not eaten for eighteen hours, the wine was rapidly having the desired effect on Timmy and he had started to ‘chill the fuck out’ – before Armie had mentioned a basement! What the hell was in the basement? He didn’t know whether the possibility of some sort of kinky dungeon down there scared the shit out of him or made him horny as hell. “How long have you lived here?”

“I err…well I… fancied a change from LA so I came over here to project manage the final stages of the renovation a couple of years ago. And I liked it so much that I decided to stay.”

Well that sounded like total bullshit to Tim but he didn’t feel it was the right time to press the subject - maybe when they’d both had more wine he could loosen Armie up, in more ways than one if he was lucky. Holy fuck, who knew that watching somebody in pink oven gloves grappling with a red-hot muffin tin would be such a turn on!

The batter mixture hissed and sizzled as Armie carefully poured it into the tray. “Wish me luck with the Yorkshire puddings. It’s always potluck if I manage to get them to rise.” Tim was already feeling something else rise, never mind the puddings, whatever they happened to be. Pudding with roast beef? But the wine really _was_ going to his head and right now he would happily put anything in his mouth that this gorgeous man wanted to feed him.

He slid off his stool before he got too hot and bothered and wandered over to the other side of the large room. It was in total contrast to the almost clinical kitchen area and he couldn’t help feeling that this spoke volumes about Armie. A bright turquoise coloured corner sofa filled the cosy space that was decorated in an eclectic combination of oranges and yellows complete with gold palm tree wallpaper, a rug and several large houseplants. There was a flashy looking Bose sound bar on top of the art-deco cocktail cabinet. “Shall we put some tunes on?” he asked.

“Yeah sure. Alexa! Put Spotify on!” Armie called out.

Tim spun round and cracked up laughing as ‘In My Dreams’ blared out at top volume and a blushing Armie frantically shouted, “Alexa, stop! Stop Alexa! Oh for heaven’s sake, ALEXA STOP!”

Fuck, thought Tim, did he look adorable when he blushed!

Well that was embarrassing! Armie had wanted everything to be perfect – the food, the wine, the house. He even gave Archie a little pep-talk – no barking and definitely no leg-humping! He thought he might have blown it earlier when _he’d_ resorted to leg-humping Tim on the hallway table to stop him leaving - and was therefore almightily relieved when his date tried to get in his pants mid-kiss. But now this. What a jerk!

“Ahhh I see!” Tim teased him. “So you’ve been checking out my music. And?”

Armie’s cheeks burned red. “It’s a bit different to what I usually listen to…but I could get used to it.”

Timmy walked back over to Armie, and from behind, wrapped an arm around his waist and rested his chin on his shoulder. “Been doing any more research on me big man?” he whispered in his ear, before moving away and helping himself to more wine.

They grinned at each other and Armie once again marvelled at how _fucking beautiful_ he was – and how difficult it was going to be to stick to his self-imposed ‘no-sex-before-confession’ rule. He was horny as hell for him! For the love of god, why couldn’t the money have been sorted out by now? He was basically being cock-blocked by his own goddamn company. Unbelievable!

He tried to shift his focus away from Timmy’s pert ass in those figure hugging pants and the way his t-shirt moulded around the curve of his spine. And tried to ignore how good it felt when Timmy had pressed up against his back and breathed on his ear. And he definitely was _not_ imagining how it would feel to lick his Adam’s apple or how he’d like to pull him by that chain around his neck and undress him slowly until all he had on were those black leather boots – and nothing else…

Agh, he needed to chill the fuck out himself – and quick! “Alexa! Relaxing playlist!” He swore to god his smart speaker had a vendetta against him. He’d even tried shouting in a Yorkshire accent the day before, missing out the t’s and hardening his vowels thinking it might be programmed differently somehow.

“Alexa! Chillout music!”

At last! Ambient tunes filled the room while he set out dishes of roast potatoes, green beans, carrots and cauliflower, a jug of gravy and a large platter of roast beef and Yorkshire puddings – which, to Armie’s relief, had risen perfectly. Right on cue he heard the pitter patter of little doggy claws on the tiles and he put down a bowl of food on the floor for Archie.

“Ok, help yourself,” he said, passing a plate to Tim. “I hope you like it.”

“This looks amazing. Better than my recent culinary efforts that’s for sure!” said Tim as he piled food onto his plate and sat down opposite Armie. “Oh my god, you’re gonna have to roll me out of here.”

The conversation flowed freely as they ate and Tim spoke with great fondness about his family and how he’d got into theatre at a young age thanks to his Mom. And about how pre-pandemic he’d planned to stay in the UK for the run of Hamlet and then move to LA to try and further his career. He talked about his friends back in New York and his steady boyfriend in high school who’d taken his virginity and then broke his heart.

Armie felt absurdly jealous and wanted to smash his face in, whoever he was - but he remained as guarded as ever and let Timmy do most of the talking. There might be a time and a place to tell his story later, but this wasn’t it. “Let’s leave all the dishes for now and I’ll show you the house. And then I thought we could sit outside while the weather’s nice. It’s forecast to get a bit nippy later.”

As they made their way out into the hallway, Armie realised that for the first time ever, he was excited to show his home off to someone. Someone he could possibly…share it with…? Dare he even hope that could come true? No, stop! It was far too soon to be thinking like that…wasn’t it?

“So the only other room on this floor is the dining room, oh and a small cloakroom there…and through this door here…is the way down to the basement. Come on – you’ll love this.” The ultra-modern glass and wood staircase doubled as a wine cellar and there were hundreds of bottles nestled in the racks that ran the whole length of it. When they got to the bottom, Armie slid open an opaque glass door to reveal his pride and joy - a gleaming stainless-steel swimming pool.

“Ta-daaa! Very indulgent I know but I just _love_ swimming. And watch this…you’ll like this.” Armie went over to a control panel on the wall, flicked a switch and plunged them into complete darkness – before flicking another switch, that lit up the whole ceiling with a realistic replica of the solar system complete with distant sparkling stars and all the planets revolving slowly around a bright central orb. “Well? What do you think?” he asked, looking upwards with a big beaming smile on his face.

Timmy was silent for a second and Armie started to worry that he was about to freak out again – but then, in a voice that wasn’t exactly his own, Tim said,

_“Doubt thou the stars are fire. Doubt that the sun doth move. Doubt truth to be a liar. But never doubt I love.”_

Armie swallowed a big lump in his throat and took a deep breath. “You are fucking amazing, do you know that?” he said. “Come here.” And he pulled Timmy towards him – not roughly by the chain as he’d imagined earlier, but gently and tenderly - wrapping both arms around him and holding him like a lover.

After a moment, their mouths parted - but their bodies didn’t - they were fastened together with something! “Timmy, that goddamn bag has snagged onto my shirt! Why have you still got it on anyway?” Armie said as he wrestled to free himself from the annoying little dangly things that had hooked into his t-shirt.

Suddenly the bag tipped upside down spilling all of its contents onto the floor between their feet. Armie looked down at everything and then back up at Timmy, expecting him to be as equally embarrassed as him. But no – Timmy broke into a fit of laughter! “What can I say Armie. I was a Boy Scout,” he said, holding his hands up ‘I surrender’ style. “You know, be prepared and all that.”

They both watched as a bottle of Durex Perfect Glide rolled slowly across the tiles and plopped into the pool under a sea of twinkling stars.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading😊
> 
> I've really enjoyed writing this chapter but its taken a while! God knows why - I just needed to get that Sunday dinner right 😂
> 
> I think this date could last a while - and when I said 'slow-burn', it really is! Trust me, I'm gagging for them to get on with it too but its just not happening yet lol.
> 
> Once again, I'm chuffed that people are reading and enjoying my stuff - all of your comments are so welcome - I can't tell you how happy it makes me to see those little comment notifications thingies in my inbox.😘
> 
> I hope you are all keeping well. Peace and Love you smashing lot! 💙🤍
> 
> (ps - that passage from Hamlet is just...🥰 but I have no idea what it means)


	9. On Standby

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Timmy gets the grand tour 🏠 Armie has a dilemma 🤔

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The first picture is by a Cuban artist who is currently living in York called Leonardo Moray and he has kindly given me permission to use this wonderful painting of York Minster. 😊 Check him out on Instagram leo_moray_artist or his website https://www.leonardomorey.com/

  
“Do you want me to jump in and fish it out or what?” asked Tim as he quickly bent down to gather up the rest of his belongings before anything else tried to make a dive for it. His kecks had thankfully remained in an unidentifiable (he hoped) scrunched up ball but there was no hiding the condoms and the toothbrush.

Armie flicked the main light switch back on and walked around the pool shaking his head. “You sure know how to ruin a moment don’t you.” He unhooked some sort of long handled grabber from a cupboard concealed into the wall and retrieved the bottle of lube out of the deep end. He dried it off on his hole-riddled T-shirt and passed it back to Tim.

“Here. And you owe me a Brioni.”

And there’s that blush again! What’s with this guy? He must be, what? Early thirties? And he’s embarrassed by lube? Really?

But even with the taste of him still on his lips, Tim started fretting again that he’d misread the signs or done something terribly wrong. He reached out and placed a hand on Armie’s firm bicep. “Hey, are we ok? I’m sorry…I just thought…in case we… you know. I thought I was being responsible. But if you don’t want to, that’s fine. I mean, _I_ want to. Look at you! But if you’re that not into me…”

He knew he was rambling but he wished Armie would just fucking _say something_ instead of staring at him. There was another long pause, then…

“Come on. Let me show you the Library. That’s what you came for isn’t it?” and he turned and headed up the stairs leaving Tim’s hand floating in mid-air.

Okaaay that’s not _exactly_ what I came here for, thought Tim, but at least he wasn’t being slung out onto the street with his metaphorical tail between his legs and his very real troublesome bag on his shoulder. It wasn’t the first time it had got him into a spot of bother.

He shoved the small bottle in his trouser pocket and followed Armie upstairs, back into the entrance hall. He still couldn’t help feeling that he’d made some sort of major faux pas coming tooled-up for a possible bonk and a tiny part of him just wanted to make a dash for it out of the front door. Oh no hang on, it was locked wasn’t it…

“I’ll…just leave this here, ok.” he called to Armie who was already up on the landing of the next floor of the house. He carefully placed his bag on the little table – where they had kissed earlier – and took the stairs two at a time and joined him.

Armie was standing in the doorway of a sunny, spacious room off to the right. “Ok so on this floor is Archie’s crash-pad, here.” Timmy peered around him and was astounded to see that it actually was a bedroom…for a dog! The wallpaper depicted a traditional English fox hunt and there was a large TV mounted on the wall. Half-destroyed chew toys littered the floor and instead of a dog bed, a huge futon piled with soft blankets was positioned in front of the tall window with a Juliet Balcony.

“He likes to people watch. And he especially likes to bark at people waiting at the bus stop.” said Armie.

Timmy wasn’t sure if he was joking – or whether to laugh or cry at the realisation that the dog’s room was twice the size of his _entire fucking living space!_ And with a telly! “Is that a baby monitor?” he asked pointing to the gadget perched on a too-high-for-a-terrier shelf.

Armie shrugged and laughed. “It’s a big house and he has nightmares sometimes,” as if that was explanation enough.

Tim really couldn’t work this guy out – at all! He was a mass of contradictions.

-Big dick alpha energy – in pink oven gloves.

-Turned on by the kiss (clearly, if his spectacular super-sized stiffy was anything to go by!) – but decidedly cool following lube-gate.

-And who the chuff has a baby monitor for a dog!?

Very intriguing 

“And this right here…is what you wanted to see. The Library. Which doubles as my workspace until our main office re-opens.”

Does he really think I’m here to see his bloody book collection, thought Tim as they crossed the landing and entered a large, imposing room. After the swimming pool, the hot-tub and the pooch’s pad it should hardly have been a shock to see that it really was…well…a library! But even so…

“Well bugger me! You weren’t kidding!”

It reminded Timmy of something out of a Charles Dickens adaptation. The room took up the rest of the first floor with its wall-to-wall, dark wood bookshelves that went right up to the double-height ornate ceiling. A sturdy antique desk stood in the middle of the room and two leather reading chairs flanked the window which had an enviable view of the Minster. Every space was crammed full and Timmy spotted books of all genres as he perused the shelves - from old classics to modern crime novels, lots of hefty law books, dozens of encyclopaedias, Russian literature and even the odd trashy holiday romance.

Armie leaned back against the desk with his long legs outstretched and his arms crossed. “Restoring this room was a real labour of love for me. There’s the William Etty painting I told you about. And I even managed to source some original oak library ladders from the late nineteenth century, over there look.”

Ahh ‘Relaxed Armie’ was back – well that was a fucking relief!

From their earlier conversation over the Yorkshire puds, (which to Timmy’s surprise were delicious) he had observed that certain subjects (cooking, Archie, history) were ‘relaxed Armie’ subjects. And others (relationships, family, money) were ‘Scary Armie’ subjects. He must try and remember that.

“Did you know that this was the home of the original York Library. Or the News Room, as it was called in the eighteen hundreds. In its Georgian heyday, it was the place where the elite, wealthy gentlemen of York came to kick back and catch up with current affairs.”

Timmy turned around to face him and smiled. “Not much has changed there then I see.”

Under normal circumstances he really would be interested in the history lesson – and even more so in the books - but right now he was a little distracted by the outline of Armie’s massive pack-up pushing against the crotch of his jeans as he perched on the edge of that leather-topped table.

He walked over to him, nudged his knees apart, draped his arms around his neck, and said, “You gonna stamp my library card Mr Hammer?”

Armie laughed. “As long as you return your books on time.”

Tim shuffled closer and wedged himself between Armie’s inner thighs. “Well I don’t know about my books…and I hope you won’t impose a fine...but I think this is long overdue...” and he gently pushed him backwards onto the green leather inlay of the desk and clambered on top of him, causing a pile of expensive looking stationary to cascade onto the floor.

Timmy didn’t notice – he was otherwise occupied with finding the perfect position for groin-grinding on the man-mountain without falling off the table. Using Armie’s own words from earlier, he said, “I’m going to kiss _you_ now, ok.” and he leaned in and gently placed his parted lips onto Armie’s. Slow and steady might be the name of the game with this man…

Ok…maybe not then, he thought as Armie instantly took charge! He gripped Tim’s ass tightly, planted his feet on the large table and shuffled them both backwards, bumping their hardening cocks together. They both groaned as their tongues licked the inside of each other’s mouths and their lips were wet with spit.

Armie suddenly and without any difficulty circled Tim’s waist with his large hands and flipped him over, swapping their positions around. He used his feet and his knees to part Timmy’s legs wider and held his arms up above his head as he sucked on the side of his neck. He thrust against him and breathed ‘beautiful’ and ‘perfect’ and ‘so fucking gorgeous’ into his ear as his hands explored Timmy’s ribs and stomach and chest.

Well that was it for Timmy - he was a sucker for praise and those words were like electrodes straight to his balls. The sheer weight of Armie’s huge body pressing him down onto the table, their rock hard erections rutting together, the wonderful powerless feeling that he loved, the stretch of his arms and legs, wide and vulnerable just how he liked it…sharp teeth grazing his throat…

“Armie stop, stop. Slow down.” He could hardly believe he was putting the brakes on but he was in real-and-present-danger of coming in his Thom Browne’s like a desperate teenager at any second. It was a good job he’d cracked-one out earlier back at his bedsit or it would’ve deffo been game over. How mortifying would that have been?!

Like a shot, Armie let go of him and jumped back onto the floor. “Sorry, sorry.”

Tim sat up on the table, quickly grabbed the front of Armie’s t-shirt and pulled him back towards him. “Ok so when I said stop, I didn’t actually mean stop. And there’s nothing to be sorry for. I fucking loved it!”

Armie shook his head and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “No, you’re right. We should stop.”

Tim shook his head in frustration. “That’s not what I meant.”

He could hardly tell him that he was on the brink of spunking in his undies - how desperate would that make him look? But then again, this guy looked hella worried – he needed to think of something, and quick. “Armie, you must know I’m into you, right? I brought slide n glide and a pack of Trojan Ecstasy jonnies with me on a lunch date for fuck’s sake. I was just a bit…umm…overwhelmed, that’s all.”

There was a pause. Then…

“Yeah, me too.” said Armie, looking down at his own conspicuous erection. “It was nice though, wasn’t it?”

“Abso-fucking-lutely!” said Tim as he hopped off the table and hugged him tight.

Armie squeezed him back and kissed the top of his head. “Ok, help me pick this lot up and I’ll quickly show you the rest of the house, then we can take your bottle of wine into the garden if you fancy?”

Timmy definitely _did_ fancy. And this was good – it meant that Armie wanted him to stay – for now. He bent down and gathered up the sheets of headed-paper from the floor. “What’s that logo?” he said, turning a page this way and that, trying to fathom out the intertwined red lettering.

“Umm…it’s the company name. Come on, I’ll show you the great view from upstairs and then we’ll go sit outside. I could do with a cigarette.”

There were two nice but bland guest bedrooms with en-suite bathrooms on the second floor, both with magnificent views of the Roman walls and the currently closed Theatre Royal from their shuttered windows. They reminded Timmy of the bedroom in his short lived swanky apartment and he wondered how many guests had ever stayed here. There was still so much he didn’t know about his host - but he intended to find out!

There was one final set of stairs that curved up and around so that it was impossible to see what was at the top. Armie stood on the bottom step and paused. “The linen cupboard is in my bathroom. Wait there and I’ll just nip up and get you that spare sheet I promised.”

Timmy frowned. “Can I…come too?”

“I…no…stay there. It’s just my bedroom. I won’t be a minute,” and off he dashed, leaving Timmy to puzzle over why he wasn’t allowed to see Armie’s room. What the hell was in there?

And what the fuck were those weird photographs on the walls leading up to it?

Armie felt bad leaving him stood at the foot of the stairs - but he needed a fucking time-out!

Timmy was so goddamn sexy and it had taken all his willpower not to just take _him_ on that desk. He always said he didn’t have ‘a type’ – well he did now! Lean yet muscled, tiny hard nipples, pale smooth skin and that hair! Fuck, he even tasted nice.

He knew he might be coming across as a bit of a weirdo, blowing hot and cold with the poor guy - but Timmy’s little bag of tricks had just thrown him! Is this what the young, woke, beautiful people expect nowadays – sex on the first date? And what was with the toothbrush and the underwear? Was he expecting to stay the night?

It would be so easy to just bring him up here and finally christen that huge bed. The only other living thing that had graced those sheets was of the canine variety. But Armie was so out of the game and it was all a little nerve-wracking after such a long sex-drought - _plus_ he’d made that promise to himself.

But what would be the harm? It wasn’t as if he was lying to Tim – he just wasn’t being completely honest…and was that so bad? And more to the point, would he remember what to do and how to do it? Would his muscle-memory kick in and save the day?

Fuck! His head was saying one thing and his heart and his cock were saying another. Decisions, decisions…

He took a minute to splash his face with cold water, swapped his jeans for comfy shorts and grabbed a spare set of bed linen from the cupboard next to his walk-in shower.

When he went back down the stairs, Tim was sat on the bottom step with a waggy-tailed Archie on his lap. _Oh god even my dog loves him_ , he thought. This could be the start of something real. Something amazing. Ok, time to start being honest…

“Tim, I know you think I keep giving you the brush-off, but the truth is…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know about you, but I don't want this date to end! I basically want to live in this house with Armie, Timmy and Archie - I'd gladly be their cleaner or gardener - anything! 
> 
> Thank you for all the lovely comments you leave me 🤗 I read and reply to each and every one and sometimes your little ideas and suggestions make their way into the story...😉
> 
> Stay safe wherever you are - my mantra is be kind, stay calm, and read fanfic 👍💙💛


	10. Change Giver

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Armie has a confession, another one...then another one. Timmy channels his inner calm. Things heat up on the patio 🌞

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You know when I said this date could go on a while...(I 💙 these two!)
> 
> (Pics all mine)

  
Whatever Timmy imagined Armie was about to say ( _I’m just not that into you_ or _I find you immensely irritating_ or even _You’re a bit too chavvy for me_ …etc etc) was way different to what he eventually _did_ say…

“…I…err…oh god this is embarrassing. Ok. Here goes. The truth is, I’m a bit rusty in the bedroom department. I’ve not been with anyone…you know…in that way…since…well, for almost three years.”

Timmy couldn’t help blurting out a loud, “Whaaaaat!?!”

 _Rusty in the bedroom department_ – who even says things like that? And three years? How was that possible? He was like a goddamn movie star!

“I know. Its really fucking tragic isn’t it.” Armie laughed and scratched the back of his neck in what Timmy recognised as his ‘I’m out of my comfort zone’ tell. “I suppose I’m a bit scared. And you seem so confident and self-assured. But there’s something else too…look, how about we take this conversation outside? I think it calls for more wine.”

Timmy was caught between being worried sick and horny as fuck - _three_ _celibate years?!_ It didn’t bare thinking about, although the chance to pop Armie’s British cherry was very appealing…or would it be rhubarb seeing as they were in Yorkshire?

They went downstairs and he quickly used the bathroom on their way back into the kitchen. He stared at himself in the large art deco style mirror as he pissed – _keep it together Timo._ But kudos to him for coming across as ‘confident and self-assured’! Those years of acting classes must have paid off after all because the reality was, he’d been shitting a brick since they’d first met.

Archie had already scampered ahead and was standing at the doors, eager to explore the garden. “Am I ok to let him out?” asked Tim, keen to keep on the mutt’s good side.

“Yeah sure. Open all the doors if you want. I’ll just clear these things away then we’ll go out. It’s a real suntrap on the patio.”

Armie loaded the dishwasher and plated up the dinner leftovers while Timmy wrestled with the complicated bi-fold doors – he was useless at anything remotely mechanical, plus he was terrified of breaking anything in here! It really was the most beautiful house he had ever been in and he still felt like he didn’t belong, wasn’t good enough - but at least now he understood the reason for Armie’s weird behaviour - sort of…

He needed to relax and more booze seemed like an excellent idea. “Do you fancy trying those beers I brought? The guy in the Trembling Madness place recommended them.”

Armie nodded and took the chilled bottles from his huge retro-style fridge. Then in a sing-song voice said, “Beer then wine and you’ll be fine. But wine then beer and you’ll feel queer.”

“Well that explains a lot,” Tim laughed. “I must’ve been doing it the wrong way round my whole life.”

“You and me both,” said Armie, opening the bottles and putting them on a tray along with Timmy’s wine and two glasses.

They went out onto the patio and Armie gestured for them to sit at either end of one of the large, oval-shaped daybeds facing the perfectly manicured lawn. The rare northern heatwave was still in full force and Timmy was already regretting his all-black outfit choice. “Chuff me! I’m sweating like a fat lass in a chippy, as my stage manager used to say. Although it took me a while to work out what she was on about.”

“Sweating like a what?” Armie said, reaching behind and pulling a canopy over them to block out the sun. “The things you come out with! Feel free to take something off though. Or I could lend you some shorts?”

Timmy liked the idea of them both taking _everything_ off - but he settled for unlacing his boots and prayed to god his feet didn’t whiff as he eased them off – it was bloody sweltering out here!

“Cute socks,” said Armie eyeing up the lemon motifs. “Cheers.” And he clunked their bottles together, drank a mouthful of the beer and stretched out his long legs. “Not bad.”

Tim settled back onto the cushions and fought the urge to just reach out and touch the sun-lightened hairs on his calves or to maybe nuzzle in the tufts sprouting from the neck of his ripped T-shirt. He pressed the icy-cold bottle to his forehead. Ahh that was better.

He was gagging to hear why Armie hadn’t had a fuck in three years and didn’t want to seem too nosey, but patience was never his strong point. “So…?”

“Do you want the long story or the short story?” Armie asked.

Tim took a swig and pondered for a few seconds. “Short. But with permission to ask questions.”

Armie laughed. “Ok, deal.” He chugged down his beer until the bottle was more than halfway empty. “The short story is that my marriage broke down and our company happened to be expanding the UK arm of the business. So it was perfect timing for me to leave LA and relocate here. And in all honesty, I’ve not been interested in dating. Until now.”

Timmy’s bullshit radar was on high alert. He needed to know more. “So you were married to a woman, right? How come?”

“Yep, for almost seven years. Partly to keep my parents happy. They’re deeply religious and genuinely believe that being gay is a lifestyle choice.” Armie rolled his eyes. “And partly because I thought I could…I don’t know…change myself somehow. Total crap obviously but I was only twenty-three when we got hitched and I really did love her at the time. And I guess when you’re young, you can…rise to any occasion.”

“Any-hole’s-a-goal type thing you mean?”

Armie nearly spat his beer out. “Well I wouldn’t put it quite like that but yes, me and my wife had, I would say, a normal marriage to start with. But as time went on, I realised I’d made a huge mistake. When the shit inevitably hit the fan, it brought so much shame on the family that I just needed to get away. No-one has even been over here to see me yet. I’m not sure they ever will.”

Timmy was dying to butt in and ask a gazillion questions but he forced himself to stay shtum – and although they were deep into ‘Scary-Armie’ territory, he’d learnt more about this complex, vulnerable, beautiful man in ten minutes than he had in the last ten days. Ten days - had it only been that long?

And it could just be a symptom of his growing lockdown lunacy, but Tim thought there was a strong possibility that he was falling _hook, line and fucking sinker_ for him! Oh shit! Was it normal to feel like this after a week and a half? Is this what being in love felt like? He couldn’t trust himself to say the right words so he said nothing and, in what he hoped would be a gesture of reassurance, stretched out his leg and gently rubbed Armie’s thigh with his foot.

Armie placed his hand on Timmy’s ankle. “There’s no need to look so worried Tim. It’s all water under the bridge now. Don’t get me wrong, at the time it was horrible, but I’m ok. Better than ok in fact. I’ve got this great house, I’ve got Archie, I love my job, and helping at the foodbank. And at least my Dad is talking to me again. Probably because I’m bringing the money in but it’s a start. My Mother not so much, but that’s her issue.”

Armie finished his drink and put the empty bottle down on a little glass table. “So there you have it. That’s my story. And as far as relationships and dates go, I met my wife when I was nineteen so I’ve not had a great deal of experience.” He picked up Timmy’s foot, peeled his sock off and began to massage it. “What about you?”

“Moi?” Timmy feigned innocence. “I’m as pure as the driven slush.”

Armie laughed loud and hard. That was a good thing. Tim wanted to make him happy. But he needed to tread carefully here. He wouldn’t exactly call himself a slapper, but there’d been…a few. Eek! How much should he tell him? This could be a game changer…

“I won’t lie Armie, I was a stage school brat. We were all at it like rabbits.”

Armie laughed again. That was a relief. He hadn’t put him off - yet. “But you don’t have to worry about…you know…I’m squeaky clean. In fact I have the certificates to prove it. The company sponsoring the theatre production insisted the whole cast and crew were tested for literally everything before the contracts were agreed. Weird or what? Arseholes if you ask me.”

Armie’s smile quickly turned to a frown. And even though Timmy was worried he’d said something wrong - again - his overriding concern right now was that if he carried on squeezing his foot like that with those huge, strong, firm, tanned, perfectly manicured _fucking hands_ he was about to pop another boner at any second!

He shuffled on the soft cushions, wishing he’d remembered to take the lube out of his tight pants pocket – it was digging into his nut-sack and it really wasn’t the time and the place to just casually pop it on the table next to the wine and the posh glasses. “So when you said the shit hit the fan, what exactly went wrong? If you want to tell me that is…”

He felt Armie’s hands tighten around his foot - almost to the point of pain – but oh shit, it was the good sort of pain. His dick pulsed.

“Ok, in the interests of full disclosure, basically I was a complete bastard. I cheated on my wife. And she caught me. Literally caught me with her personal assistant, Robert. In our house. On the sofa to be precise. Well he was. I was knelt on the floor.”

Oh Jesus, the image of Armie on his knees with his mouth around a cock was now all Timmy could think about. He hoped the bulge in his pants wasn’t too obvious. But what the hell did he expect when he was kneading his arches like that? Surely he knew he was making him hard? “Then what happened?”

“She fired him, divorced me, and made sure everyone knew the reason why.” Armie shook his head slightly and sighed. “But the worse thing was that I thought he loved me. Turned out he was just in it for my money.” He looked straight at Tim. “Fuck, saying it all out loud makes me sound really bad, doesn’t it?”

Timmy felt tears prickling behind his eyes. This guy was gonna be the death of him – sniffles and a stiffy at the same time?!? How was that even possible? And he thought how he would very much like to stand on Robert’s bollocks until he squealed like a pig!

 _“There is nothing either good or bad, but thinking makes it so,”_ he said. Then, “Sorry, sorry, please tell me if my Shakespeare quotes get irritating. It’s just that I’ve lived and breathed Hamlet for six months and its permeated my brain, I swear.”

Armie’s grip around Tim’s foot loosened and his touch became less like a massage and more like a caress. “They’re not. Irritating I mean. I love them.” He trailed his nails up and down the sole and pressed his fingers lightly between the toes. “And since I’m on a roll, I have another confession. I watched you play Hamlet.” He picked the foot up, brought it to his mouth and kissed it. “You were breath-taking.”

Tim sat up and jerked his foot away. “What? When?!?”

Armie was done with confessions for one day – three was quite enough thank you very much! (Sex abstinence anxiety; Escape from LA; Surreptitious Shakespeare)

He realised he would have to come clean about the company connection very soon, but apart from a couple of false starts, the date was going well and he didn’t want to jeopardise that. Today had been like the pieces of a puzzle finally slotting into place. Timmy was everything he didn’t even know he was missing until now.

He’d almost blurted something out when Tim had told him about the clap test – did the company really do that? How inappropriate! But on the other hand, he wasn’t at all surprised given their strong ties to the church with its outdated ideologies - which was partly why he was currently living in exile in the back of beyond. It made him even more determined to implement changes, starting with how the arts funding was managed. But for now, he thought a little white lie would be ok.

“I popped into the theatre to enquire about tickets and accidentally gate-crashed one of your rehearsals. I stood and watched you for a while. And I thought you were fantastic.”

He couldn’t read what passed over Timmy’s face. There was something there but he didn’t know what. Suspicion? Anger? Worry? He carried on…

“Then when I saw you at the foodbank, I recognised you straight away, even with that scarf on. It was your eyes. And your hair. And I was…I don’t know…trying to act cool, I guess. The truth is, I wanted you from day one. I was mesmerised. Believe me Timmy, I’ve seen a lot of Shakespeare and you are something special, you really are.”

Timmy put his drink down, scooted over to kneel next to Armie and put his arms around his neck. “I think _you’re_ something special,” he said and planted little kisses under his jaw and on his cheeks and forehead, finally resting on his lips.

The kiss started off languid and gentle, the booze having taken the edge off their earlier desperation. Armie pushed his hands under Timmy’s T-shirt and let them travel slowly up to his shoulder blades then back down to the base of his spine. Timmy moaned into his mouth and pushed his groin forward and Armie chased away the fleeting thought of the other men who had been here before him. Had he moaned like that for them too? He fucking hated them all!

The kiss deepened. Armie stretched his fingers out and spanned Timmy’s slender waist, tracing his thumbs on his hipbones and tucking his fingers down the back of his pants. Then lower, lower… he slid one hand down to rub in between his parted thighs, then back up and over the front and…

“Tim? Is that a bottle of lube in your pocket or are you just pleased to see me?”

“Both!” said Timmy, leaning back, breathless and giggly and flushed. With that, Archie yapped and leapt onto the daybed in between them and plonked a spit-wet ball right onto Armie’s crotch.

“Fucking hell Archie, you sure know how to kill a mood too!” laughed Armie. He gave Timmy one last little kiss and a squeeze on the arse before jumping up and tossing the ball on the lawn. “Fetch!”

Timmy smiled and flopped back against the cushions. Ahh that smile. Armie thought he could happily die in that smile. As Archie excitedly sped off after his toy, Armie leaned down and ducked under the canopy. He gently stroked Tim’s dark curls out of the way and whispered in his ear, “To be continued.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yep, another foot massage scene 😊👍
> 
> And I've been dying to use that Tallulah Bankhead quote for ages! (Did anybody spot the nod to another one in Chapter 2? I changed it a little bit...😉)
> 
> Thank you all so much for your kudos & comments - I love to hear from you so please keep them coming! 💙
> 
> I am having so much fun with these two and I hope you are too - a couple more chapters to go I think, but who knows...
> 
> Peace & Love as ever in these crazy times 💛😘


	11. Step Inside Your Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The date at Armie's finally comes to an end - but not without more drama, obvs. The universe gives them a sign 🌈

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> pics are all mine - including the Sundog!

  
“See behind the trees, up there?” said Armie, pointing through the branches above them. “That’s part of the city walls. The original Roman walls were built in seventy AD but most of what you see now is from the thirteenth century.”

All three of them were laid out on the cool grass under the shade of a large tree at the end of the garden – Timmy on his back with his hands under his head, Armie propped up against the trunk and Archie flat on his side with his legs sticking straight out, playing dead. The pooch was growing on Timmy but there was only so much ‘fetch’ you could play before losing the frigging will to live. Especially in this heat.

And besides, his head was a little fuzzy after they’d shared the second bottle of wine a little while ago, so he was happy to just close his eyes and let Armie’s hot-chocolate voice wash over him…

“They’re the longest intact city walls in England. Two miles long altogether. We should walk around them sometime. In winter when the trees are bare, everyone has a birds-eye view of the whole garden. You get used to it after a while but …am I boring you Timotay?”

Tim opened one eye and looked over at Armie and smiled. He’d actually been having a little daydream about sucking him off in the hot tub. He liked it when he made fun of his name. It was cute. “Nope. I’m taking it all in. Keep talking.”

“We wouldn’t be able to do this…” Armie leaned over and placed a soft kiss on his lips. “…without being seen by a dozen foreign tourists.”

Never one to pass up on an opportunity, Timmy pulled him down into a deeper kiss, lightly scratching his back over his t-shirt. He spread his legs to accommodate the bigger man in between them and tilted his hips up to let him feel how much he liked him. Armie pushed down harder with his groin and nudged his legs open wider still as they made out on the grass, exploring each other’s mouths with their tongues. Timmy let out a loud, breathless “Fuuuck…” when Armie gently bit down on his bottom lip, and he didn’t give a shiny shite who was watching or listening.

He could feel Armie’s swollen cock through his light shorts. Tim had never been with anyone so fucking _huge_ – in _every_ way - and even though the size of him was a teensy bit scary, he was nonetheless desperate to get past first base. Or at least to see what he was dealing with in the flesh without pesky clothes in the way. The kissing and dry humping was great but chuffing hell, talk about blue balls! He reckoned they’d both had semi-permanent erections since crossing the threshold of the damn house together and yet Armie was still playing hard to get – literally!

If Tim had his way, they’d be up those stairs like the clappers and down-and-dirty on the first bed they came to. Or table. Or floor. Or even the dog’s futon. He wasn’t fussy…

Armie broke off the kiss and propped himself up on one elbow. “Do you know, I can’t remember a nicer day since I moved here. I’m glad you came,” he said, running a finger across Timmy’s plumped up lower lip and down his throat, over his Adam’s apple.

“Well…the day doesn’t have to end if you don’t want. I could stay here tonight and…” Tim stretched up and reached around the back of his neck and tried to restart the snog.

“Sorry Timmy but no. Not tonight.” Armie pulled away and sat back up. “Not yet. I like you. _Really_ like you. And I’m flattered, and a little amazed that you like me…”

“What’s not to like,” Timmy interrupted, licking his sore bottom lip where Armie had held it in his teeth. Fuck, that was hot!

“Please, let me finish. Ok, we’ve established that we like each other. So why the rush? Call me old fashioned but I just want to take things slowly. And there something I need to …err… sort out first. Trust me, I _want_ to. But I promise you, we’re not going to have sex today.”

“We’ll see…” said Timmy and he flopped back on the grass in frustration, then, “Hey! What’s that? That rainbow thingy?” He quickly sat up and pointed up at a strange crescent shaped multicoloured cloud high up in the early evening sky.

“Oh yeah. I see it. They’re quite rare. Pretty isn’t it? It happens when the sun is at fifty-eight degrees above the horizon and ice crystals in the clouds form rainbows. It’s called a circumhorizontal arc. Or a Sundog.”

Timmy looked at him in awe. Oh he could be so happy with this man, he just knew it. It almost seemed too good to be true and he knew from past experience that things had a way of turning to shit after a while, but as it stood right now, Armand Douglas Hammer was fucking perfect! He just needed to Not. Screw. Up.

“I love that. Sundog. In fact it could be my new nickname for you.”

Armie frowned. “New? You mean there’s an old one? I dread to think…”

Timmy winced in embarrassment. “Ok so it’s my turn to confess. Since you took me up that dark passage, I’ve been secretly calling you Hornpot Hammer.”

Armie burst out laughing. Timmy was growing to love that sound. And sight. Those little pointy teeth when he smiled _did things_ to him…

And if that Sundog wasn’t a sign from the universe, he didn’t know what was!

As the sun lowered, they relocated to two large, wooden rocking chairs in front of the glass doors and listened to the evening bird song. Armie brought out soft cushions for the seats and used an app on his phone to light up the whole patio with pretty lanterns. He showed off his new hot tub and opened a bottle of expensive cognac that he’d been saving for a special occasion – only there hadn’t been any – until now. The whole day had been special. Timmy was special.

They talked about movies and books and took turns choosing songs from Spotify to play through the outdoor speakers. Given their completely different backgrounds and the age difference, it was surprising – and reassuring – to find they had lots in common. But they agreed to disagree on certain song choices. “Doom Metal? Really?” Timmy ribbed him, and Armie said he could never understand the Cardi B thing – it just sounded like a racket to him.

Armie talked about his love of astronomy and Timmy talked about his newfound fascination for all things paranormal, especially local ghost stories. It turned out they both had an encyclopaedic knowledge of Rogers and Hammerstein musicals and could both play piano and guitar to varying degrees.

Armie’s insides did a little flip-flop when Tim said that he would probably have to go back home to his parents when the airports reopened. He silently prayed for Bungling Boris to keep the planes grounded and for lockdown to last a while longer - just until he could sort out the goddamn money issue at least. _Then_ they could talk about the future. A future together…

The thought of him leaving was awful. Was this the universe paying him back for breaking the rules in the middle of a global pandemic? If it was, then Armie thought that the universe could go fuck itself because he couldn’t bear to think about losing him. Not now. Not after today.

He needed to stop his negative thoughts spiralling, so on his way back from a bathroom trip, he took a detour up to the library where he kept his stash in a drawer in the desk. “Fancy a smoke? Finest Cali weed. Think you can handle it?” he said, wiggling a joint he’d rolled earlier in between his finger and thumb as he came back outside.

Timmy slapped his thigh. “Now we’re talking! You know, I could grow to like you. Spliff me up baby!”

Armie laughed and lit it up. He’d always enjoyed smoking weed and was baffled as to why it wasn’t legal everywhere. This was the good stuff - strong but mellow and worth every penny. They passed it back and forth and gently rocked in the chairs. Armie’s previous anxiety quickly faded away and was replaced by a warm, calm feeling. But oh shit...

…it clearly had the opposite effect on Timmy! After a few hits, he’d rapidly gone from ‘normal’ to complete nut-job!

First it started with the giggles. Then he launched into a high speed, over-dramatic rendition of _‘To be, or not to be’_ then…

“I know! Let’s go in the hot tub!” and he jumped up and precariously balanced on the edge of the tub and took his top off. “Did I tell you I’m a trained dancer? Watch this…” He threw his t-shirt over at Armie, stood on one leg and pirouetted around the narrow rim. It was a minor miracle that he didn’t plummet into the water.

Armie cursed himself. He’d created a monster! “Get down Timmy! You’re going to fall in. We are not going in the hot tub tonight.”

“Spoil sport,” pouted Tim then leapt off the edge, almost falling into a large rose bush before making a miraculous recovery and jumping up in a flamboyant “ta-daaaa!”

Note to self, Armie thought – DON’T GIVE TIMMY WEED. He’d turned into a complete lunatic. It was like sprinkling water on a fucking gremlin!

“Timmy! Come and sit down! Let me get you a coffee.”

Timmy clambered on top of Armie in the chair, nearly tipping them both backwards into the granite water feature. He fiddled in his pants pocket. “It seems a shame to waste a good bottle of lube. Set me back a tenner this did! Let me give you a little wank with it. Pretty please.”

Oh god, Armie was tempted. He really was. But fuck no…. oh no! Tim had already clicked the bottle open and was dolloping a large blob in his palm. He slid onto the ground between Armie’s knees. “Let’s get these off, off, off…” he said, giggling uncontrollably as he wrestled with the waistband of Armie’s shorts.

Armie sucked in a deep breath as his cock sprang free, already half hard despite his reservations. “Tim!” he whispered, “I’m not doing this. You’re being ridiculous!”

Ok, so his mouth was saying one thing but his cock was saying another. He saw that Tim’s nipples were hard and pert in the cooler evening air and the skin of his chest glowed under the light of the lanterns - and when Armie looked down between his legs at his pouty mouth making a beeline for his knob-end, he felt a surge of desire. They both wanted it. What would be the harm…?

Tim gripped his now rock-hard cock with both hands, opened his mouth, lowered his head… and then fell back on his heels in a fit of laughter. “Bloody hell Armie! You’ve gotta be kidding me! The fucking size of it!”

“Right, that’s it!” Armie jumped up and quickly tucked himself back in. “The boys are back in the barracks and I’m taking you home!”

Timmy clung onto his legs. “Noooooo! Don’t make me go home. I’ll be good I promise. I just need a cuppa…and a chippy tea,” then fell about in another fit of giggles, rolling back and nearly knocking over a ceramic plant pot full of lilies.

“You’re pissed and stoned and you’ve actually just laughed _on my dick!”_ Armie grabbed his hands and attempted to haul him up. “Up you get.” He managed to pull the apparently boneless Timmy into a standing position and then guided him inside to sit on the sofa - he daren’t risk one of the bar stools. He patiently put his T-shirt, socks and boots on him like a child, then made him drink a bottle of water while he parcelled up a large plate of leftovers. Armie knew that he would be grateful for this later when the inevitable post-weed munchies kicked in.

Timmy slumped over to one side and hugged a cushion. “Armieee can’t you giz a croggy on your bike?”

“I have no idea what you just said Tim apart from the word bike. And it’s a no. Archie needs a walk.” He passed Timmy the Hammer Trust bag with the food, the sheet, a book on The Ghost Walks of York and his absurd man-bag in it. “Come on, let’s get you home.”

Armie held Timmy around the waist as they walked back to his place through the quiet city streets. He was relieved to see that the combination of the walk, the cooler evening air and the water was doing the trick and Tim seemed to be sobering up a little. And by the time they passed The Merchant Adventurers Hall with its stunning Medieval timber frame, he was even managing to walk unaided in a sort-of straight line.

Even though Timmy had behaved like a total nutter, Armie wasn’t the least bit cross or angry or upset. In fact, as they walked together in a comfortable silence, it dawned on him – not in a dramatic _‘oh my god’_ way, but in a gentle wave of acceptance - that he loved him. He was pretty stoned himself and it did occur to him that it might be too early for ‘love’ but it felt like love. Like he’d never felt before.

As they crossed over the River Foss, a few yards from his building, Timmy stopped and leaned over the edge of the little stone bridge and looked down into the murky water. “Armie I feel sick. I’m so sorry. Have I ruined things?”

“Don’t be daft. You haven’t ruined anything.” Armie ruffled his hair and rubbed his back. “But I’m not letting you smoke weed again, you lightweight!” He gently took his shoulders and turned him around, then looked up and down the street before leaning in for a kiss – Yorkshire folk weren’t all that tolerant of _any_ type of PDA let alone two pissed up blokes in a global lockdown, so he wasn’t taking any chances.

Timmy was the one to pull away first this time. “Is it ok if I go it alone from here? I’m fucking embarrassed.”

“Don’t be. I’ve had a great time. And its partly my fault. I forget that not everyone can drink and smoke like me.”

Timmy shook his head. “It’s not just that. I’m embarrassed about my place. I’m embarrassed about this…” and he lifted up the bag with the food and the sheet in it. “Just… everything. I’m a mess aren’t I?”

Armie hugged him tightly and whispered into his hair, “I think you’re fucking lovely.” Archie leaned against Timmy’s calf as if to agree.

They stood and watched him walk the short distance down the cobbled street to his building. He swayed slightly and it took him a couple of attempts to punch in the right entry code. When Armie saw the light go on in his apartment window, he took out his phone and sent a message:

**You know I’m falling for you Timotay**

Halfway home, as he was stood outside the York Dungeons, waiting for Archie to finish pissing up a lamppost, he got a reply:

**Ditto Sundog**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me and my fella were sat in the garden a couple of weeks ago having a glass or two of wine. I kid you not, we were talking about how sad it is that Poland seems to be slipping backwards in terms of tolerance and LGBTQ+ rights as we have been there three times and love the country - and I looked up and there was the Sundog! The picture doesn't really do it justice - it was beautiful 🌈
> 
> I hope you liked this chapter - it went in a completely different direction to what I planned out once Timmy took a hit of that joint🤪
> 
> I thought, seeing as its Armie's birthday I would make an effort to drag myself out of bed (I've got a cold - I'm a tad dramatic like Timmy) and post this update. I love these two! 💙
> 
> Once again, thank you so much for your lovely comments - I would love for you to keep them coming 💛
> 
> P & L and stay safe🤍


	12. Disco Down

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Timmy makes amends 😉 Armie lets go 💙

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All my own pics again 👍 I hope you like them!

Timmy returned to the land of the living with the usual ‘ping’ of a notification from his bank kindly reminding him - _every goddam day_ \- that **‘you are close to using an unauthorised overdraft’.** His stomach lurched. He was scared shitless of his landlord and the rent was due on Friday. Then it lurched again when he clocked the half-eaten Sunday dinner leftovers congealing on a plate on the floor at the side of his bed. And what the hell was that book next to it? Ghost stories? No wonder he’d had bloody nightmares and…oh…

…no! No! NO!

His antics from the night before suddenly barrelled into his brain: dancing on the edge of the hot-tub, falling into a bush and – oh God, no, no! – lathering his hands in lube and wrestling Armie’s cock out of his shorts – aggghhhh!

He squeezed his eyes tight shut and grimaced as more of the evening’s events bulldozed their way back into his consciousness. He couldn’t breathe. His heart raced. Since he’d only had one bottle of the stuff, he technically couldn’t say it was Beer-Fear kicking in. More like Wine-and-Weed-WHAT-THE-FUCK!

He groaned out loud in horror and pulled the covers over his head - then realised that he’d not even bothered to make his bed when he got in and had collapsed on the manky stained mattress - Yuk! The roast beef and Yorkshire puddings churned in his stomach and he just about made it to the bog where he upchucked the lot.

After peeling himself off the bathroom floor he forced himself under the hottest shower he could tolerate, scrubbing himself from head to toe in a bar of good old-fashioned Imperial Leather Soap (four for a quid at Poundland).Then he set-to tidying his room. He washed the plate, hung up his hastily discarded clothes from his trying-on session yesterday, wiped around the surfaces and then made the bed properly with Armie’s crisp, white sheet. It felt as smooth as silk and he pressed his face into it and inhaled before tucking it around the horrid mattress.

Momma Chalamet’s mantra was ‘tidy room, tidy mind’. He wasn’t so sure about that but at least he felt marginally less scuzzy. He threw on a clean T-shirt and joggers and opened the blind. It was cloudy today but that was a good thing. He didn’t think his head could cope with sunshine just yet - the Hang-xiety was fucking phenomenal! He had a vague recollection of manhandling Armie’s knob then rolling about laughing. Oh shit-a-brick!

He nearly had a heart attack when his phone pinged again. It was a message from the man himself. Ok, you can do this Timo…

**Morning Timotay. How’s your head? I had a great day. I hope you did too. And if you behave I might even let you come in the hot tub next time 😉**

_Come_ in the hot tub? Next time? Well that was promising. So maybe it wasn’t as bad as he remembered…? A flash of lassoing his T-shirt around his head popped into his mind...Yep – it was that bad. Ok, what to reply…

**Hi. Head so-so**

then…

**I made a tit of myself didn’t I? Sorry**

Timmy hung out of the window to try and cool off as he anxiously watched the three typing bubbles. Come on Armie!

**No need to apologise. I thought you were funny. I’d love to see you again. If you want to see me? I’ve got to work today but how about you come and help out at the foodbank tonight? We could use an extra pair of hands. And I get to be with you again. 6pm at the church hall ok?**

Timmy spun around and threw himself on the bed – _love to see you again_ – oh the relief! He replied...

**You bet!**

He had two thoughts in his mind – number one: _Thank fuck I haven’t blown it._

And number two: _Fuck, I could have blown it, literally! Damn, his dick was magnificent! If memory serves…_

  
  


Timmy was slightly fragile all day and stayed close to the bathroom just in case. He read and listened to music and attempted a new recipe from Armie’s book (Spanish omelette – it tasted ok but zero out of ten for presentation) then sat down and composed a difficult message to his Mom:

**I’m sorry Mom. I’ve not been completely truthful with you. Don’t worry. Its nothing bad but I don’t live at the apartment anymore. And I need to borrow some money. I’ll explain everything. What time can I call you?**

It did occur to him that his only correspondence with the outside world so far today had consisted of two ‘sorry’s’. What the hell was wrong with him?!?

His Mom messaged back straightaway telling him that, of course she would help him but she insisted on seeing where he was living so they arranged to video chat at 9pm UK time. That was fine. That would give him time to zhuzh-up the place as best he could, get changed for his foodbank stint, and maybe squeeze in a quick wank – not necessarily in that order. The wank might have to get top billing - he couldn’t get Armie’s cock out of his mind! It had been so close and yet so far...what a wasted fucking chance!

At 5.45pm, after carefully considering what would be appropriate attire for foodbank volunteering (beige cargo pants, a loose patterned shirt, no jewellery) he set off for the church. He had butterflies at the thought of seeing Armie again but he knew he had some grovelling to do.

When he got there, Armie was already outside, clipboard in hand, directing the growing queue. Timmy’s heart skipped a beat – good god he looked so fit in thigh-hugging brown denim jeans and a loose, sky blue, hippy style top with a low v-neckline. Umm, interesting clothing choice. Maybe the dress sense of the kaftan-clad woman was rubbing off on him. It was the first time Timmy had seen him in anything other than a plain T-shirt and he was loving all the new things he was discovering about his…what was he? Not boyfriend yet. Friend?

‘Kaftan’ turned out to be called Izzy and was chatty and friendly and down to earth. Armie quickly introduced them and asked if she would show Timmy the ropes before he dashed over to stop world-war-three breaking out between two pensioners arguing over the hand sanitiser. Timmy was slightly disappointed to find out that he wouldn’t actually be _with_ Armie – the only reason he’d come was to be close to him. He shrugged, popped on a disposable white face mask and reluctantly agreed to be on tea-and-coffee duties - and hoped he wouldn’t fuck _that_ up. How hard could it be?

  
Armie had barely been able to concentrate on his own tasks because he’d had one eye on Timmy for the whole evening. Christ was he a distraction! But oh he was _so_ proud of him. As the masses descended, he watched him transform from nervous and awkward to confident and captivating.

He’d quickly got to grips with the complexities of the catering-sized tea-urn and was soon chatting effortlessly to even their most ‘challenging’ of clients. He even had them all singing an impromptu ‘You Look Good on the Dancefloor’ which was more Yorkshire Primates than Arctic Monkeys but it was refreshing to see people laughing for a change – lockdown was tough, especially on the less fortunate.

He wandered over as Tim was clearing the last of the soggy tea bags away. “Well? How was it? Did you manage to meet the high expectations of our hard-to-please tea drinkers?”

“Fuck me! They’re a bit bloody fussy aren’t they. About _free_ tea!” Timmy pulled his mask down and perfectly mimicked the complainants:

_‘you ant let it mash’_

and _‘like chuffing piss watter’_

and _‘that’s a reet rum brew!’_

Armie laughed. This guy was…perfect! “Tim, do you want to come back to my place when we get finished up here?”

Tim’s smile dropped. “I’ve gotta get back home to…err…facetime my Mom.”

Something was wrong but Armie didn’t know what. “Oh. I was hoping we could…can’t you call her from here?”

Timmy shuffled and fiddled with the elastic of his face mask. “No, she…she wants to see my place. Plus I’ve got to ask her for a favour and I’d rather do it at home.”

Armie feigned nonchalance and picked up the heavy tea-urn ready to store it away for the night. “What’s the favour?” He had an inkling of what was coming…

“Oh god this is really cringey. Ok, so here’s the thing. I need her help with this month’s rent.”

Armie felt his stomach drop. Oh for fuck’s sake! He’d been assured by the people in the arts funding team that the wages would be paid this week. Wednesday at the latest. Should he tell him? “Tim…you know, you don’t need to worry about money. I can…”

“No! I know what you’re going to say and I appreciate it, but no. You’ve done enough for me. I feel like a fucking freeloader as it is.”

Armie put the metal urn down on the table, grabbed Timmy’s hand and pulled him into a tiny storeroom where they kept all the tinned food. “I never want you to feel like that. Ever. But I understand.” He leaned down and gently kissed him. “What time do you need to leave?”

Timmy took out his phone. “In about fifteen minutes.”

Armie closed the door – then turned around and braced his back against it. He pulled Timmy close and whispered, “I can’t stop thinking about you. Like not at all! I’ve hardly been able to concentrate on work…on anything!”

“Me too,” said Timmy. He stood on his tiptoes and kissed Armie’s cheek, then mouth, then down the side of his neck, then his collar bone, then his chest in the v of his low-cut top. “And to think I almost fucked up the chance to…do this…” and dropped to his knees!

Armie sucked in a breath – holy fuck, what was happening?

“Timmy! What are you doing? Are you sure?”

He wanted it. God did he want it! But even so, he’d imagined that their first time would be somewhere slightly more appropriate than a store cupboard. In the church hall!

“Of course I’m sure.” Timmy carefully unzipped Armie’s jeans and pulled out his half-hard cock then tilted his head and licked a long stripe right from his balls up to the tip. He looked up through his long, black lashes and said, “I’ve been dreaming about doing this since I saw it swinging like a fucking pendulum in the park. Just chillax and let me.”

Armie was instantly _very_ hard. Ok, so this was really happening. He’d try and ‘chillax’ – but it wouldn’t be easy.

Tim’s lips felt smooth and wet as they slid down onto the head of his cock. And when he dipped the tip of his tongue into his slit Armie momentarily forgot he was in a place of worship and cried out, “Oh Jesus fucking Christ, that feels so good.”

Yep he was most certainly going straight to hell for this. Could he even actually go through with it?

He looked down at Tim - eyes closed in concentration, cheeks hollowed out as he established a steady rhythm, sucking down the length of his cock and - Oh what the fuck _, yes he could!_ After what seemed like an eternity of abstinence, he figured he should ‘be more Timmy’ and just let go for a few minutes. And it really would only be a few minutes - because he could feel his orgasm building already!

Tim’s mouth and fist were dripping with saliva and pre-cum and Armie couldn’t resist running his fingers over the wet on his chin as he bobbed his head up and down. Holy hell, this was going to be an embarrassingly short blow job but it had been three years after all!

He thrust his hips forward and gripped a fistful of Tim’s hair. “Tim! I’m coming.” His previous partners would pull off at this point but to Armie’s complete awe and gratitude, Timmy looked up at him, nodded and sunk further down onto his cock. Armie had never seen anything so fucking beautiful in his entire life and as his spunk pulsed out, he pressed a thumb to Tim’s swollen lips where they were stretched around him. Then he gently held his throat so he could feel him swallow it down. 

Tim stood up and wiped his mouth on the back of his hand. He had a massive grin on his face. “Well? Did you like it?”

 _Did he like it?!_ How could he be so casual when Armie felt like he was having some sort of out-of-body experience? Maybe it was all just fun and games to Timmy but for him, it was…something else! His legs felt like jelly. He couldn’t breathe normally. His struggled to fasten his pants back up with shaky hands. It wasn’t as if he’d never had a blow job, but wow!

“Tim…I…” He didn’t know what to say. He seemed to have lost the ability to speak too. He almost blurted out _I LOVE YOU!_ which he knew was completely ridiculous. Wasn’t it? Instead he just leaned his head back against the door and closed his eyes and smiled.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” laughed Tim, then, “Hey I’m sorry to just, like, blow-and-go but I really do have to get back to my place.”

The door handle jerking against his hip snapped Armie out of his post-orgasm trance. “You ok in there boss?” Izzy called out.

“Shit!” Armie hissed. “I’d best go out first. Just say you were helping me rearrange the baked beans or something.” Then louder, “Yeah, won’t be a second Iz!”

He held Tim’s face in both hands. “I hope things go ok with your Mom. I’ll call you tomorrow.” He kissed him – and for the first time ever, he tasted himself on someone else.

The next day, Armie went for his usual early morning run before work, this time choosing a route along the river, across the Scarborough Rail Bridge and back around by the Victorian train station. He was planning to impress Timmy with a scallop recipe that evening and he’d messaged him earlier asking if he liked black pudding. It wasn’t to everyone’s taste.

He stopped to catch his breath in front of the beautiful First World War memorial statue and checked his phone. There was a message from Tim – but it wasn’t about black pudding…

**You fucking condescending patronising manipulative entitled overgrown bastard! I never want to see you again**

Oh shit! 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had fun with this chapter! All of them in fact. This has been a joy to write. I hope you are all still liking it too - only one more chapter to go! (I think...)
> 
> Once again, thank you to everyone who has clicked that little kudos ❤️and/or left a message - 😘😘😘to you all
> 
> P & L and stay safe and sane! 💙


	13. Room In My House

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The truth sets them free 💛

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All my own pics again 📸

  
Timmy’s Mom had called on the dot of nine. He was still out of breath after his mad dash from the church hall and just had a few seconds to straighten his bed covers and put on a lamp to try and create an ambient vibe in the flat – well, as much ambience as could be mustered up in a one room shit-hole.

It was only when he connected to facetime that he realised his hair was all scragged up where Armie had fisted a big clump of it while he was sucking him off. Oh and yes, hair pulling was definitely a _thing_. And as for his cock…phew!...it was everything he’d imagined – and then some!

But he couldn’t think about that right now with his Mom’s little frowny face filling the screen of his phone.

“Oh my God Timmy, are you ok? Me and your Dad have been so worried! Where are you living? You’re not on the streets are you? And what’s going on with your hair? You look like you’ve been dragged through a hedge backwards! And are you eating properly? That shirt’s hanging off you. Tell me you’re not on drugs. Oh God!”

“Hi Mom,” said Tim, rolling his eyes. He was under no illusion which side of the family his propensity for the over-dramatic came from. “I’m not on drugs and yes, I’m eating properly. And no, I’m not living on the streets…yet. Just in a dump. Stop worrying.” He ignored her comment about his hair and plonked his baseball cap back on.

Once he showed her around the room, she actually accused _him_ of being over-dramatic saying she’d lived in far more dodgy places when she was a student dancer in New York. But she was cross that he hadn’t told them earlier about his financial predicament because they would have gladly helped out with money.

“But then I wouldn’t’ve needed the food vouchers Mom. And I would’ve never met Armie.” Timmy grinned. He couldn’t help it. Even saying his name gave him butterflies.

“Ooh do tell. Is he fit?”

“Mom! But yes, he’s fit. And kind. And very tall! Six-five I think. He’s like a fucki…sorry…goddamn movie star!”

He realised that his Mom was the first person he’d talked to about Armie and he spent the next ten minutes telling her all about how they met and where they had been, and about Archie, the foodbank and the volunteer work.

“He’s not a weirdo is he? I was watching a Nancy Grace the other day where this church charity worker turned out to be a…”

“No Mom! He’s lovely. And I don’t think he’s short of a bob or two. You should see his house!”

After explaining what that meant and convincing her that everything was fine, his Mom agreed to transfer him a thousand pounds over to cover his rent for the next two months and said that she would get him a plane ticket home as soon as the airports were open.

Although he didn’t say it to his Mom, Timmy was secretly hoping that international travel would be off limits for a while longer - then the decision of whether to go home or not would be out of his hands. Because it really was a dilemma. He was desperately missing his family and friends and it didn’t look like the theatre would be reopening this year so there was no reason for him to stay in the UK…

…apart from the one _big_ reason – Armie. It was far too soon to get serious – wasn’t it? But if he went home, and put a literal ocean between them, that would most certainly end the relationship. And he’d forever wonder about what could have been…

He slept fitfully, dreaming about endlessly packing for an overseas trip and not being able to cram everything into his bag and having to re-do it over and over again. So when the birds started their hellish cacophony of tweeting at four in the AM, he gave up on sleep and scrolled through his phone instead - quick Insta check (boring), BBC News (page after page of Covid horror stories with that annoying fucking green germ thing at the top of every one), York Weather (a confusing mix of rain, sun, fog and lightning – was that even possible?) then his banking app to check that the money from his parents had gone into his account…

What the fuck?!? Tim sat bolt upright in bed. His bank balance was around five times the amount that he was expecting. He looked down the list of transactions:

**-N & M Chalamet - £1000  
-H A F - £4925**

H A F? What the hell was that? He Googled. It was unlikely to be ‘hot as fuck’ or ‘helicopter assault force’ so he changed his search to ‘HAF company name’ and a fresh page of search results popped up. He scrolled down until something caught his eye…

Hammer Arts Foundation

Hammer…umm okaaay…Timmy’s heart started beating faster and his temple throbbed. He clicked on the ‘about us’ link. HAF was the philanthropic arm of the LA based company, AHI, set up to support the arts in smaller towns and cities where funding was limited and where the company had a business connection.

With increasingly shaky fingers he clicked on the link for AHI - and instantly recognised the intertwined, red curved letters of the company logo - from the headed stationary in Armie’s library!

Armand Hammer International

And then when he looked on the ‘meet the team’ page, there he was - Mr High and Fucking Mighty Hammer himself – all teeth and hair, suited-and-booted in corporate clobber, looking every inch the ‘MD – UK Division’.

The deceitful, conniving bastard! Tim’s brain went into maximum anxiety overdrive…

Had Armie known about him all along? Did he pick him out from the Rose Theatre cast list? Were his wages deliberately stopped so he’d have to resort to the foodbank? Which meant that Jodene from the Citizens Advice Bureau must be in on this too. Was she part of the plot? Is that why the company insisted on testing him like a lab rat – so Armie could be sure he wasn’t potentially fucking a clap-riddled skank? And why pay him now? Was it for the blowjob? A five-grand knob-nosh?

Timmy’s head was spinning. He felt nauseous. And to think he was actually falling in love with him. What a wanker! Who did he think he was? What was this, some sort of social experiment? Find a fuck-toy to get through lock-down? Make him all dependant on you then ditch him once the rules were relaxed?

Shit, twat, bollocks! What a chuffing kick in the balls this was!

Timmy’s worry-barometer was through the roof and he burst into tears. Big fat tears of hurt and frustration and confusion poured down his cheeks and ran under his chin before soaking into the sheet – Armie’s sheet. He leapt up and yanked it off the bed, screwed it up into a ball and threw it in the corner of his room.

But he was still level-eleven angry so he picked it back up and attempted to rip it to shreds. That didn’t work so in a change of plan he hiked up the blind, opened the sash window and hurled it down onto the cobbled street below. He then spotted the last remaining food-bank voucher pinned to the corkboard so he tore that up into tiny pieces and tossed them out of the window like crap confetti. He was still angry. He looked around the room – what else? The books? No, not books…ah the plate - and lobbed that out as well for good measure.

Instead of smashing as he hoped, it landed completely intact, cushioned by the bunched-up sheet – which enraged Tim even more! He snatched up his phone and punched out an angry message to Armie before flopping back onto the bare, stained mattress and bawling into his pillow. How could he have got him so wrong?

Weirdly he must have fallen into a deep, dreamless sleep because when he woke up it was 10am and heavy rain was battering at the window. Much as he hated to admit it, he was starting to think he had maybe, ever-so-slightly, a teensy-tiny bit, overreacted. Again. And god forbid if the guy from the newsagents opposite had seen him throwing things out of the window at the crack of dawn, completely starkers with his willy waggling about. Eek!

He picked up his phone, took a deep breath and read his messages:

**I’m guessing you’ve found out who I am. But I never lied to you Tim. Please let me explain**

There were five missed calls from Armie. Then:

**If you won’t talk to me, please do me the courtesy of reading this before you make any decisions. I think you owe me that.  
There is nothing deceitful or underhand going on here. I had no idea that our company had stopped paying the actors until that day in the park when you told me and I’ve been working hard to rectify the situation ever since. I swear I was going to tell you everything once you’d all been paid. I’m sorry now that I kept it from you but I knew you’d be embarrassed and I was trying to spare your feelings.**

  
**My feelings for you are real. I’ve never been able to talk to anyone the way I can talk to you. I’ve never felt this way about anyone before you. Ever. You make me happy. And I think I can make you happy. Don’t fuck this up over a stupid misunderstanding.**

  
**‘ _Where love is great, the littlest doubts are fear; when little fears grow great, great love grows there_ ’**

Tim wasn’t quite done being angry – he still had a million questions. But fuck, was that a lovely message! He read it again a hundred times.

Then went downstairs to retrieve the plate and the soggy sheet from the gutter.

Armie tried to concentrate on work but couldn’t. He then did thirty laps of the pool but that didn’t help either – he somehow managed to think of thirty different things that he loved about Timmy on every turn. (his smile, his soft lips, his laugh, the stray curl that flopped over his eyes, his fingers, the feel of his tongue on the head of his cock…) He cooked himself a plate of scrambled eggs but ended up feeding it to Archie instead. Even a tortuous mid-morning zoom call with his strangely nocturnal Mother didn’t distract him from worrying about what to do.

He could see that his messages had been read and even tried calling Timmy one more time but to no avail. This morning, he had woken up happier than he could ever remember. But it seemed like a faded dream now.

“You got any advice for me buddy?” he asked his little companion.

Archie stared at him for a second or two then trotted off into the hallway and came back with a lime green Nike Air Max in his mouth and plopped it at his feet. Armie laughed. “Ok, I guess that’s my answer, oh wise one.”

He jogged down Parliament Street, past the All Saints Church with its beautiful clock, in front of the Golden Fleece pub and down Fossgate to Timmy’s flat. When he got there, ‘Speedin’ Bullet 2 Heaven’ and cigarette smoke drifted out of the half-open window. Ok, angsty music and nicotine – this was a good sign.

“Hey, Timotay!” he shouted. Then put his fingers in his mouth and gave a loud whistle.

The window slid upwards and Timmy stuck his head out. “Bugger off Hammer. I don’t want to talk to you!”

“Don’t be like that. I can explain everything. But not like this. Let me in.”

“No chance! I’m still really wazzed off. Go away!”

“I’ll wait here all day and night if I have to. So stop being a baby and open the door.”

“I’ll…err…call the cops if you don’t leave,” Timmy shouted.

“Call the cops? Are you for real Chalamet? You are one massive fucking drama queen, do you know that? Let me in!”

The automatic lock clicked and Armie yanked the door open and ran up the stairs two at a time. The door to Timmy’s room was ajar. When he pushed it open, Timmy had stubbed his cigarette out and was sat cross-legged on the bed with his arms folded, doing his best impression of a death-stare. “Take your sheet and your plate and your stupid books and frig off!”

Even grumpy-angry-Timmy looked hot and adorable but Armie’s patience only stretched so far. “I swear to God Tim you are the most exasperating person I have ever met. I’m going nowhere until you hear me out!” and in sheer frustration he turned around and slammed the door shut as hard as he could. It felt good…

…until a huge chunk of plaster from the artexed ceiling crashed down onto the floor in front of the bed! A shower of powdery dirt rained down on Tim’s head and the whole room was momentarily engulfed in a cloud of grey dust. Timmy jumped up. “Agh! My clothes! Not my clothes!” and he frantically started swiping chunks of the ceiling off his precious designer gear.

Armie managed to keep a straight face - for about three seconds before he burst out laughing. “Oh for fuck’s sake Timmy! That’s it! You can’t live here anymore. Get your stuff together, you’re coming with me.”

Tim turned around then bent right over and shook the grit out of his hair. When he stood back upright, he held Armie’s gaze and said, “You saying what I think you’re saying?”

If the 2020 shit-show had taught Armie anything, it was that life is short and sometimes you just have to take a leap of faith. He took a deep breath and moved closer to Timmy. “Come live with me. Not just for tonight. For as long as you need. Or at least until you’re sick of me.” He licked his thumb and swiped the dust from Timmy’s lips before kissing him. “I’ll bring my car out front and you can move in today.”

Tim took a step back. “Whoa! Whaaat? Isn’t this all a bit…rushed?”

Armie shrugged. “Perhaps. Probably. But I don’t care. I want to give us a chance. Live with me Tim.”

“You sure? I mean…I’d fucking love to but…Armie, are you sure?”

Armie laughed. Talk about a quick turnaround! This guy was something else! But he was sure of one thing – he loved him. It was futile trying to fight it. And although saying it out loud was hard, he’d never been surer of anything in his life.

He hugged his beautiful, funny, sweet, infuriating man-boy tightly to his chest and whispered into his dusty hair, “I’m sure.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's it...for now 😉
> 
> There's just a short Epilogue to go...partly because I think I'd like to see how these two get along with their new living arrangements - and partly because I'm a weirdo and didn't want to end it on 13 chapters.
> 
> Once again, thank you so much for each and every click of that little ❤️ and you know I LIVE for your comments, so if you have enjoyed this, I would love for you to let me know 🤗
> 
> I truly hope this little story has shone a bit of light into this shitty, strange, scary year.
> 
> Peace and Love 💙


	14. Chasing Rainbows

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to the lovely KANA (kanat.one) for allowing me to use their beautiful artwork 🍑🧡

  
Timmy was a tingly ball of nervous energy as he ascended the steep staircase up to the master bedroom for the first time. It had only taken one trip in Armie’s flash Range Rover to move all his gear and it was decidedly fucking trippy to think that this beautiful place was now his home.

He paused to peruse the pictures on the walls going up the stairs and twisted his head this way and that to try and fathom out what he was looking at.

“Come on, quick. I’ve got something amazing to show you,” shouted Armie from the top of the house.

Suddenly the pictures came into focus – he was looking at close up monochrome photographs of various body parts bound tightly with intricate knotted ropes.

“Oh holy fuck,” muttered Tim. “I bet you have!” and he ran up the stairs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> P & L 🧡


End file.
